The Opposite of Love
by BigMamaG
Summary: (Re-written, re-edited, and with a new chapter) When Draco's parents are killed, Draco receives an unwelcome houseguest by the name of Harry Potter. Featuring an original character and an original animal.
1. Events That Lead to Destiny

This story, once grammically horrific and almost abandoned because of writer's block, has been reborn. A few weeks ago I acquired a wonderful new beta reader (my first real one) by the name of Desertrain. (Go on and read her first HP story on ff.net) Apparantly this story was written horribly bad and after only a few months I have grown much stronger in grammar and have taken to edited my fics before I foolishly post them. So to those who have already read it, there's a new chapter. For those who are reading it for the first time, I hope my story will enlighten you.  
  
E-Mail: BigMamaG_Pimpess@yahoo.com for all your worship and bitching needs.  
  
  
  
The-Disclaimer-That-No-One-Likes-to-Write: Harry Potter and other characters (besides Misma and Draco the ferret) belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Chapter 1: Destiny and Other Disappointments  
  
  
  
  
  
"Pay attention, Harry. Now, if you put two newts into a Lucidity Potion, what will happen?"  
  
  
  
"Snape will have me for lunch?"  
  
  
  
"Harry! Be serious, we have to study! The N.E.W.T.S are only a few months away!" Hermione cried. Harry rolled his eyes, promptly shutting his Potions book after her fussy comment.  
  
"I am dead tired of studying for his bloody final. He's going to fail me either way, after all. Why don't you bug Ron about it for a while?"  
  
  
  
"Because that prat won't even mention the word 'study'. Honestly, you two need to grow up and realize that you all are stuck in this class until we leave Hogwarts," she huffed, slapping her own book shut and rearranging a growing mountain of papers.  
  
"Well, one more glorious year and I won't have to see Snape's ugly face for the rest of my life."  
  
  
  
"Or better yet, Malfoy's!" Ron said gleefully, plopping down next to Harry. Hermione immediately drew herself up rigidly, folded her arms in defiance, and glared at Ron  
  
"And why aren't you studying?" She asked, her eyes boring imaginary holes into Ron. Ron smiled broadly, flashing her the world-famous Weasley Grin.  
  
"Because it's Christmas Eve and I don't fancy imagining Snape's great ugly face over a cup of hot chocolate."  
  
  
  
For emphasis, Ron sipped elegantly on his cup of hot chocolate, giving Hermione a defiant look over the brim. Hermione scowled indignantly and Harry bit back a laugh at their exchange. His two friends, although extremely close, had argued day in and day out for years. It was no more abnormal than tying a shoe or eating with a fork.  
  
"Still, Hermione, can't we just sit here and enjoy something for once? It can't hurt to at least pretend you can be laid back, can it?" Ron asked, his eyes widening in earnest.  
  
A side effect of their strong bond, however, was Ron's tendency to flirt without realizing he was doing it. The uncharacteristic rasp in his voice that escaped him did not go unnoticed by Harry, but Hermione seemed to miss the point altogether. Sighing in defeat, she wrapped herself in a blanket and absentmindedly leaned closer to Ron in the dim lighting. Harry sighed, knowing that his time was up and he was better off going to sleep than trying to split apart their 'friendly' intimacy. He went upstairs to the boy's dormitory and crawled underneath the covers of his bed, contemplating the world at large.  
  
Another year had gone by and Harry felt more alone than he had ever remembered. Over the past few years Harry had inherited a sort of foster family which incorporated many figures that helped to complete his life. Mrs. Weasley was like the mom he never had, and the rest of Ron's family proved to be a kind of band-aid that wrapped around his scarred life.  
  
Non-platonic love, on the other hand, was something even harder to come by. Despite his minute crush on a fellow seeker named Cho Chang in his earlier years, Harry had never felt an attraction to anyone. It would only make sense, being that Harry was never one for being close. It was hard to fall in love properly, being that the only touch he had received in his childhood was from the Dursley's, and that was only a push him into his cramped cupboard. He had grown to dislike physical contact with even his closest friends. His fame had only hindered his ability to share intimate relations with others. Famous for something he could barely remember, Harry had long ago abandoned the hope of ever being 'normal'.  
  
For convenience, Harry divided those outside his circle of close friends into two categories: Those who wanted to be him or those who wanted to be with him. Everywhere he went it was certain what was on all minds: He's got it all. The whole world expected him to be the greatest thing since sliced bread (although he couldn't explain how sliced bread was so important) and it was all he could do to just manage to get away from Voldemort's grasp. Harry had even begun to feel that his meetings with Voldemort were only won through good luck and some quick, simple spells. Yet even Voldemort was no longer first on Harry's mind, although he occupied a good portion of it. Voldemort was only a physical challenge. Voldemort couldn't match the battle of emotions that Harry faced in his mind each day.  
  
Harry didn't know the answers for himself, but all he could gather from his scattered thoughts that night was that he had two great friends and life wasn't really so bad as long as he was at Hogwarts. He fell into a dreamless sleep that night, unaware of life-changing events that were taking place in other parts of the world.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
Lucius Malfoy, torn apart by anger, stalked inside of his home, searching for his son Draco Malfoy. His wife, Narcissa Malfoy, was weaving in and out of rooms, following her husband closely and trying to talk sense into his livid mind.  
  
"Lucius! Draco had nothing to do with this and you know it! Leave him alone, please."  
  
  
  
"The boy lied to me Narcissa! He won't take the dark mark, and he chooses to shame the family name!" Lucius had a wild, animalistic look in his stormy eyes as he searched each room in fury, still seeking out his disobedient son.  
  
"Your name, Lucius! Draco is only doing it to show that he's not going to do everything you tell him to do."  
  
  
  
"He's doing it to spite me!" Lucius roared, rounding on Narcissa and pushing her hard, causing her to stumble from the force. She hit a wall forcefully and slumped to the ground, silent and defeated tears sliding down her fair face.  
  
"Draco! Show your cowardly face! Right now!"  
  
  
  
"I'm here father," Draco spat, appearing on top of a staircase. Lucius' darted eyes his upwards, glowering at his son. Draco remained calm and collected, though his eyes focused entirely on his mother, who began whimpering against the wall she was thrown into. Draco studied his father's face, for the first time in his life feeling callous toward his father.  
  
"You will take the dark mark, hear me boy? I didn't raise you to be a fool!" Lucius yelled venomously, rushing up the staircase.  
  
"I will not. I refuse to turn out like you, father, a slave to Voldemort.so low and cowardly as to bully around your own wife."  
  
  
  
"Lord Voldemort, and if you dare speak to me that way." Lucius suddenly stopped halfway up the staircase, holding his arm in searing pain. The dark mark burned black on his skin, a telltale sign of the dark lord calling one of his servants.  
  
"I'm being called, and I will tell Voldemort of your failure to join him. Perhaps then you will understand where your loyalties lie. Come Narcissa." Lucius grabbed her hand. Narcissa resisted, hurrying up the stairs to where Draco stood. She quickly wrapped her arms around him and held him tight against her. Draco held her close, nuzzling his face into hair that smelled of honeysuckle and spring, his stoic face breaking into helplessness. She bent down to speak into his ear, her voice shaking as she did so.  
  
"I'll always love you, Draco, my dragon." With those final words, she grasped Draco's slightly shaking hand and pressed a small ring into it and manually curled his fingers around it. She kissed his forehead just before Lucius grew impatient with her and pulled her away. As Lucius brandished his wand, Draco looked into his mother's tearful eyes one last time as both of his parents apparated out of sight. Draco's face flickered for one instant, nearly on the verge of tears, but then it was composed once again. Draco had never cried before, no matter what the circumstances were. Draco knew that Voldemort would ultimately kill his parents. His father made no difference to him now, but the impending loss of his mother was draining his body and soul. This thought nearly caused him to cry, a tear threatened to spill over onto his cheek. He searched his mind blindly for something to make him feel better, some happiness or rock of strength he could lean on. When it came to him, he immediately felt safe; the knowledge that Voldemort couldn't touch him in his home gave him strength beyond anything else he could muster. As the shock ebbed away, Draco set off for his room, preparing to dispatch an owl immediately.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
Not a sound could be heard in the depths of Hogwarts castle this late at night. With the exception of the soft footsteps of Mr. Filch and Mrs. Norris prowling the halls in search of students out of bed and Peeves busily painting the walls of the boy's bathrooms pink, no one was roaming the halls at all.  
  
Around 3 a.m., a door banging open and sound of a man's cloak sweeping past the empty corridors could be heard. The man was Severus Snape, head of the Slytherin house as well as the school's Potions master. His usual look of sourness and bitterness were wiped clean from his surly face and replaced by a coalescence of confusion and fear, a foreign look for the professor. After muttering an inaudible password to the stone Gargoyle outside of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's office, the Gargoyle leapt aside and Professor Snape entered the office by climbing a set of moving stairs. Dumbledore was at his desk, knitting a scarf. He smiled serenely at Professor Snape as he entered, unperturbed and unsurprised at his intrusion. Professor Snape stared, dumbfounded, at Dumbledore, amazed that he was awake at such an odd hour.  
  
"What brings you here to my office at such short notice, or rather such short hours, Severus?" Dumbledore queried, setting his needlework down on his desk. Snape quickly shook his head, ridding it of questions that were never going to be answered.  
  
"Voldemort has killed Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy."  
  
  
  
"Oh, dear," Dumbledore said in a grave voice, shaking his head in sympathy.  
  
"Not only that, but due to this recent disaster among the Death Eaters, Voldemort has made his final plans to overtake Hogwarts to kill Potter once and for all."  
  
  
  
"I'm sorry to say that we are unprepared for such an attack, Severus." Dumbledore sighed and stood up from behind his desk and began to pace the room. Snape watched him for a moment, the tension in the room palpable.  
  
"Am I wrong to think that he is protected here at the school?" Snape asked, genuinely shocked at the prospect of vulnerability inside one of the few places that was deemed safe for Harry to be in.  
  
"Over the past few months we've been more concerned with preparing Harry for Voldemort, though the prospect of Voldemort taking Harry was still with us. We even barred him from going into Hogsmeade, afraid that it was not safe enough. This was bound to occur eventually, Severus. Voldemort has grown immensely powerful and would be able to take Harry from here and destroy him utterly. We must get Harry to a safe place at once, that is definite. But the question is, where could he be safe, if not at Hogwarts?" Dumbledore sighed, sitting down again with a frown on his weathered face.  
  
"If Voldemort can take over Hogwarts, there's no other place as safe."  
  
  
  
"We must think of something, Severus, no matter what the cost." Snape hesitated at first, a strange tidbit of information appearing suddenly inside his mind. As most incredibly brilliant or incredibly stupid plans go, the nagging feeling inside of him would not be held down and Snape found himself revealing his idea.  
  
"I have spoken to young Mr. Malfoy recently from an Orb of Visions and he claims that he is not leaving his home."  
  
  
  
"Ah.So that explains why I have received an appeal to leave Hogwarts from young Mr. Malfoy."  
  
  
  
"Malfoy Manor has a protection around it that no one has ever heard of. In fact, no one really knows where it is. It would be unorthodox, not to mention dangerous, but it seems to be the only safe place where we could send Harry. If I can just get Draco's consent to have him there, Harry would be safe." Snape said all this with an air of simplicity, but both he and the headmaster knew that to actually carry out a plan like this would be next to impossible. "We would have some trouble receiving Draco's consent, but."  
  
  
  
"I imagine that Mr. Malfoy would quite enjoy torturing Harry on a daily basis," Dumbledore said as he grinned morosely and shook his head slightly. "Though I fear that Harry would rather face Voldemort single-handedly than to spend a second with Mr. Malfoy."  
  
  
  
"I don't mean to sound so frank, but what choice do we have, Albus? We simply won't tell Potter, he'll understand that it's in his best interests. They don't even have to see each other, give or take a few seconds of a day, and they can each get back on track with their lives once we assemble our forces."  
  
  
  
"I'm afraid that it will be slightly more difficult than that," Dumbledore whispered thoughtfully, staring out of a window next to his desk. Severus favored Dumbledore with a quizzical look, but simply ignored that strange feeling he got inside whenever he knew there was something important that Dumbledore wasn't telling him. Dumbledore sighed and sat in his chair, silently cutting off Severus' musings.  
  
"Alert Mr. Malfoy at once and send Harry there now. That will be all, Severus."  
  
  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry woke up from his deep sleep by a strange tingly feeling inside of his stomach. Harry held his stomach as if he were in pain, but was actually trying to figure out what was happening inside of him. A bright red light then filled his line of vision, prompting Harry to reach for his glasses and peek out of the curtains to see who or what was the source of the light. A warm rush of air whipped around him, and Harry was being pulled toward the lone window in the dormitories. He tried calling out for Ron, but nothing escaped his mouth as he was pulled out of the window and disappeared into the horizon with a tiny camera flash click of light. Harry trailed unconscious over miles of terrain, only a small bright light identifying him as Harry. As muggles from below him stared from their houses and neighborhoods, some figured the white hot ball of light was a shooting star, while others believed that they had seen a rare comet hurtle through the heavens. No one except a select few knew of where he was headed, and what lay at the end of his journey.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Where is Harry going?  
  
Does Draco have no heart at all?  
  
Will Snape do a strip tease to a Michael Jackson song? 


	2. Trapped in the Dark

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other characters (besides Misma and Draco the ferret) belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Chapter 2: Trapped in the Dark  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry's destination became apparent as he felt the insides of his stomach suddenly lurch up and his body was deposited quite roughly onto a patch of dew filled grass. He lay in this initial position for a few moments with his legs sprawled every which way, his arms seemingly reaching out to grasp the welcome earth, his glasses askew as he turned his head sideways, blades of grass tickling his nose. After he had practically memorized the exact number of veins a shoot of grass has, Harry finally stood up. His eyes scanned his surroundings and landed on a larger than life castle that was most definitely not Hogwarts. His throat tightened and Harry suddenly felt that he was not somewhere safe. After another confused glance at his surroundings, Harry found a large, aged door set inside a brick wall directly behind him. He sighed in relief, walking hurriedly toward the door. He placed his hand on a metal ring and pulled. To his utter disappointment, the door didn't budge at all. He grew frantic, trying desperately to escape from wherever he had been taken to. He kicked, pounded, and yelled in rage before thinking of using his wand, which did not work on the door either. His efforts proved fruitless, however, as in his efforts to leave, his foot slipped on some of the grass he had studied earlier. Muttering deep loathing for the once interesting grass, Harry stood up and resorted to pounding his fist on the old wooden door until his hand was raw. After finally succumbing to the idea that he was indeed trapped, he turned around slowly, staring at the mansion for the first time.  
  
The mansion loomed high above him, its turrets and towers twisting grotesquely into the darkened sky. On a closer inspection, he discovered that he was standing near a moat. Its waters were a pale green and a murky cloud of fog hung over it. A scaly something glided through the water, and the idea of a moat monster firmly held in Harry's mind. From his view of the outside a few moments ago, he could tell that he was high atop a mountain. A strange, foreboding feeling overtook him and he could have sworn that an evil presence was afoot. Yet he knew it wasn't a presence as evil as Voldemort, or else he'd have quite a headache at this point. Harry shivered inwardly, the castle-like home reminding him grimly of old Muggle movies such as Frankenstein. He wouldn't have been entirely surprised if there wasn't some sort of monster inside, though perhaps not one with bolts protruding from its neck. Horror films had never taken with Harry. Every time he would watch a horror movie with his cousin Dudley, Dudley would always spend the next week or so terrorizing Harry, playing cruel pranks on the young and skittish Harry. One time Dudley and his gang left Harry at a cemetery after watching some horror film. Harry shook his head roughly, blocking the disturbing memories from his mind immediately.  
  
Deciding to just swallow his fear and take fate by the throat, Harry walked determinedly toward the apparition of some sort of real-life horror movie. He approached what he figured to be the entrance, confusion etched on his face as he tried to figure out how to cross the moat. He cursed at the fact that he didn't know how to Apparate, as it was not the end of his seventh year. A sudden lurch of a moat monster dampened Harry's hope of trying to conjure a practical way of crossing the moat. Harry could only stare perplexedly at the castle.  
  
His questions were answered, however, as a loud creaking sound echoed in Harry's ears and a large drawbridge began lowering. The castle had seemed deserted, but the sudden lowering of the bridge proved that there was indeed someone or something there. The thought didn't cheer Harry, but it gave him the will to walk across the length of the bridge, spooked yet somewhat relieved at the same time. At the end of the bridge there lay a darkened door, which opened like magic when he drew near. Harry warily padded into the darkened main room, gasping at the spectacle before him. As soon as he stepped in, the ceiling rushed swiftly above him to a height much higher than the enchanted ceiling at Hogwarts. The room could have easily fit a two-story house, and then have enough room for a deck and a swimming pool. The entrance hall was adorned with gold, marble, and several other precious stones he could not name at the moment. At the end of the room stood a magnificent set of stairs. It started in a wide expanse and swooped upward as far as his vision could take him. But just before the stairs drifted completely out of sight, he could make out two sets of stairs branching off from the main staircase, as well as a shadowed hall going straight towards the back of the castle. Harry grew ever more impressed as he closely studied the tiled floor, it's intricate designs flowing eloquently together. Harry found that he was no longer shivering; the room was very warm even though there was no sign of a fireplace. Even if Harry could discount the presence of the moat monster, he could still deduce that the house was a wizard's domicile.  
  
A sharp rapping noise startled Harry out of his reverie and he felt himself being lifted high into the air once more, except instead of a warm, soothing gust of air, he instead felt a harsh pulling all over his body as if he was a puppet suspended by strings. Harry gasped and flailed his arms, looking ridiculously like a crippled chicken trying to fly. He was lifted higher and higher to the ceiling, his body floundering against the unseen force. He was just able to turn his head toward the ceiling, and almost as suddenly wish he hadn't. The ceiling was rushing toward him at break neck speed. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impact that he knew would occur. Then, as if planned from the very beginning, his body stopped, bent at a rigid angle against the ceiling. Harry opened one eye slowly, his nose only an inch from scraping the ceiling. Just as he was about to inhale again, his body once again took flight, floating awkwardly toward the top of the staircase. His journey stopped abruptly a few feet from the floor and he landed with a resounding thump, wincing as pain shot through his side.  
  
"Sorry about that. I just learned that spell and I'm not good with landings yet," a sickeningly familiar voice announced, sounding as if it wasn't sorry at all. Harry groaned, lifting his head from the ground for the second time that day and forced himself to look at the cause of his impromptu flight. A looming mass of blonde hair, silvery blue eyes, and a wicked smile was what Harry could see, and it was the last thing he wanted to see while splayed out on the ground.  
  
"Malfoy," Harry muttered under his breath, a feeling of enlightenment as to where he was engulfing him. Draco Malfoy smirked, pointing his wand directly at Harry and magically made Harry's wand fall to rest in his outstretched hand. Draco slipped Harry's wand in his own robes, smirking sadistically. Harry felt a rage start to build inside him as Draco proceeded to circle Harry like a hungry vulture over a dead elephant. Harry managed to pull himself to his knees, trying his best to appear composed despite his current position. Draco finally stopped in front of him, favoring Harry with a bemused glance out of the corner of his eye.  
  
"On your knees for me already, Potter?"  
  
  
  
"Why have you brought me here?" Harry growled, a white hot flash of anger giving him the energy to leap to his feet and stand a fair distance away from his arch enemy. Something resembling confusion registered in Draco's face but was soon gone as he recovered from his minute shock quickly and strategically.  
  
"Well, I was led to believe that you agreed to accompany me, but I enjoy it so much more when it's against your will anyway," Draco said, an evil sort of slur dripping in his words. Anger flashed in Harry's jade eyes, which were reflected tenfold by a crystal chandelier above their heads. As Harry stood in front of Draco ready to pounce at the slightest fidget from him, Draco couldn't help but notice how much more intimate and lethal their closeness caused them to be. He was equally impressed at how restrained Potter was being. He would have liked to think that it was because of his extravagant wealth and handsomeness, but knew that it was only because he had yet to mention either of Harry's friends in their brief conversation.  
  
"I have no reason to be here and you're holding me captive."  
  
Draco snorted disdainfully. "Captive? What reason would I have to keep a vagrant like yourself captive? I'd sooner turn you over to Voldemort than have to look at you for one second." Harry's eyes flew open because Malfoy had said 'Voldemort' instead of 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' and for the fact that he was not here on Draco's behalf.  
  
"Then answer my question: Why am I here?"  
  
  
  
"Don't ask me, ask them," Draco spat angrily, pointing his wand into the air and muttering a spell. A sphere-like object flashed before them, suspended in midair. Draco grabbed it with both hands and twirled his slender fingers affectionately around it in a mockery of a child holding his favorite toy.  
  
"Show me Dumbledore's office," Draco said to the glowing ball. Harry was past the point in his wizarding career when talking to a ball would seem insane. In fact, few things ever surprised Harry these days. So when the ball's glowing surface twirled colors around to show Dumbledore's office, Harry didn't even blink twice at it. At first it showed a wide, sweeping view of the office but soon narrowed down towards Dumbledore himself as if Draco's mind controlled the picture, which, Harry thought, probably did.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Potter has a few questions about his predicament," Draco explained to the picture. Dumbledore looked up from his papers, smiling in the direction of Draco. He rustled around the papers on his desk and quickly gave Draco all of his attention.  
  
"I was expecting it, actually. Harry, how was your trip?"  
  
  
  
"As normal as one could imagine under the circumstances," Harry said, still angry that he was stuck here without a moment's notice. Draco smirked at him, thoroughly pleased at Harry's discomfort.  
  
"I'm sorry that we had to send you so quickly, but there was no time to be lost."  
  
  
  
"Why am I here?" Harry asked slowly, feeling his spirits lower with every second he stood in Malfoy Manor.  
  
"Voldemort was prepared to take you. We needed you in a safe place."  
  
  
  
"Safe? Here?" Harry sounded remarkably like an aristocratic snob while replying, "I'd rather face Voldemort, really."  
  
  
  
"Then that makes two of us," Draco muttered, his eyelids lowered in a cross between silent rage and dull boredom. Dumbledore still smiled at their exchange, causing Harry to wonder why Dumbledore never told him anything. Draco just wondered if he could somehow rip Dumbledore's head off without the ill side effect of death.  
  
"Harry, we do not have the manpower to face him just yet. Malfoy Manor is the safest place in the world. We wouldn't have sent you otherwise."  
  
  
  
"Oh, so there were more people who concocted this plan?" Harry practically shouted. Draco smiled an even more sinister smile than the one he gave Harry the one time he actually beaten him in a Quidditch match.  
  
"Professor Snape so lovingly came up with this plan," Draco stated, grinning like an overzealous Chester cat. Harry scowled, moving to sit at the top of the expansive staircase in barely contained anger.  
  
"Mr. Malfoy, I trust the two of you can reach some sort of arrangement. Tomorrow I will inform your friends and relative of your location. They will be able to speak to you for one half hour every other day or so through Draco's nifty orb. Merry Christmas." The scene on the ball cleared and Draco waved it away with a flick of his wand, placing his hands on his hips in annoyance. Other matters had occurred to Harry in his brooding, so Harry stood to speak to Malfoy one last time.  
  
"What about your father? He'll probably kill me in my sleep if he knew I was here."  
  
  
  
"He died last night, along with my mother," Draco said, no emotion showing in his voice or actions until after he said 'mother'. Harry's eyebrows slightly raised, yet the news didn't shock him as much as he would have thought. He felt a pang of sympathy engulf him suddenly, and for a slightly insane reason he actually felt sorry for Malfoy. It was probably because of the fact that his own parents were killed by Voldemort, but more for reasons Harry could not name. The moment didn't last long as Draco's features were once again iced over and he began walking up the right flight of stairs away from Harry.  
  
"Where do I sleep then?" Harry called out after him.  
  
"In the pantry with the others rats." Draco's belittling comment was nothing to Harry, as a pantry was bigger than a cupboard under the stairs.  
  
"Better with rats that you I suppose," Harry retorted, not taking the time to dissect his comment. Draco halted, genuinely confused, wondering where Harry got the idea of sleeping with him. Of course, it could just be that Draco was self-centered enough to draw that conclusion in his slightly lusty mind.  
  
"How charming. Follow me if you want a room not possessed or occupied by other.entities." Draco turned sharply on his heel, smirking, his silvery- black cloak billowing behind him. Harry hesitated, but then followed obediently as getting lost in unknown territory seemed worse than following Malfoy. As they walked through long stretches of corridors and up winding staircases, Draco would subtly glance over his shoulder, eyeing Harry as if he would attack at any moment. Each time he looked, Potter's eyes would be downcast and a haunted look would appear on his face. Draco figured that being pulled unknowingly into a situation such as this must have been difficult. Draco slowed his stride a bit, wondering why he cared whether or not Potter was uncomfortable. He didn't care, he thought, picking up his pace. It was simply a slip in his thought process, like the kind of slip you get when you uncomfortably find out you've been staring at a family member's backside too long, Draco assessed. It is definitely not a wanted thought, and it makes your stomach swish around disturbingly afterward.  
  
Harry, meanwhile, was treading along behind Malfoy, dragging his feet on the stone floor every step the way. There was little light in the mansion itself, save for a few flickering candles mounted on the walls. Shadows played devious tricks to Harry's eyes as they traveled higher and higher. The last time Harry could remember walking with Malfoy had been the time in his first year when they had had detention together. It wasn't a pleasant experience, being that they bickered the entire way and he had to face the then fallen Voldemort alone. The experience didn't raise his spirits in light of this new one. Harry kept his eyesight low, but noticed that Malfoy would look back every so often, either to make sure he was still there or to make sure that Harry wouldn't think of attacking, he didn't know. It made no difference if he did, since Malfoy had his wand. Harry scowled. Lacking any means of attack, he bored imaginary holes into Draco's back.  
  
At long last they reached a simple door at what must have been the very top of the tallest tower. Draco pushed open the heavy door, revealing a stunningly nice room. It wasn't nearly as grand as the hall was, nor was it as gloomy as the halls and stairways. Harry walked slowly inside, a stoic expression etched on his face. He firmly decided to not enjoy one moment of his time here, but found himself gazing about rather fascinated. His eyes roamed from the heavy set bed with silken sheets to the ceiling from which a chandelier impressively hung. He was surprised to find that the floor was carpeted, and that the room had not only a fireplace, but a small window seat tucked away modestly in the room. It was comfortable, but he knew he would rather be in his four poster at Hogwarts than in this furnished room. Malfoy's voice cut into the silence, and Harry was forcefully reminded that he was still there.  
  
"I won't expect you to care, but breakfast is early, and I hate stragglers."  
  
  
  
"I don't want to eat breakfast with you, Malfoy. I don't fancy puking so early in the morning."  
  
  
  
"Why not? It might be green to match your eyes."  
  
  
  
"Didn't know you noticed my eyes."  
  
  
  
" 'His eyes are green like a fresh pickled toad' who could forget?" Harry cheeks drew a slight blush from the memory of when Ron's little sister wrote a Valentine poem about himself, sent a disgusting cherub to him, and was then was pointed out as the writer by Malfoy himself.  
  
"At least I got a valentine, unlike yourself."  
  
  
  
"I'd rather have none than one from the Weasley girl. Just her namesake is enough to cause someone to 'puke' as you so elegantly put it."  
  
  
  
"Leave, Malfoy."  
  
  
  
"Why should I do that? It's actually my room, after all."  
  
  
  
"Because I don't want you here."  
  
  
  
"And what makes you think I care about what you want?"  
  
  
  
"Well, stay then."  
  
  
  
"I'll just be leaving. See you tomorrow, Potter." Malfoy's snigger echoed through the tower, and the door closed with a loud bang. Harry fell face first onto the bed, willing his head to stop spinning. His whole world had turned upside down in the matter of only an hour or so. He was stuck in a situation that he couldn't control, and nothing irked Harry more than not being able to control his situation. If he were any sleepier he would have nodded off the sleep on his new bed, but worries were bombarding themselves inside his head. Forcibly he sat up in bed, looking at the room just one more time. His sight narrowed in on an arrangement of gift wrapped items in the corner of the room. Harry smiled. Dumbledore must have sent his Christmas presents with him. Harry smiled, thankful that Dumbledore had at least realized that he would want his gifts. Feeling slightly giddy, Harry walked light footed to the presents, feeling as excited as he felt the very first time he had received a respectable present on his first year at Hogwarts.  
  
The first was from Mrs. Weasley, the usual tin of fudge and a Weasley sweater. Harry grinned, pulling the sweater on and smelling the shirt. It smelled like Ron's house, the odor of cleanliness, some strange perfume, and a touch of smoke undoubtedly from one of the twin's botched experiments. He then ate a piece of fudge, painfully aware of the fact that it would be a long while until he saw Ron's mother again. Ron's family had become a surrogate family over the past few years, and he hated to know that he might never see them again. The next present was from Ron himself, and it was a Chudley Cannons poster. Harry bound it to the wall using a piece of Muggle bubble gum in his pocket, feeling a little more at home with the sweater and poster.  
  
Harry went through the lot, sorting out each gift he received. A book of dragons from Hagrid, a silver necklace from Cho Chang, even a miniature Quidditch board game from Neville. Harry smiled as he opened each one, feeling better and better as the gift wrap engulfed him.  
  
One of the last presents was from Hermione. It wasn't a book, like he always figured she would give him. It was a Warding Amulet, very powerful and kept evil at bay. Harry smirked, sometimes wondering if Hermione had any skill in predicting the future. But he knew of Hermione's loathing of divination more than anyone else and kept in mind the day when the his intelligent friend had shocked everyone by leaving a class out of anger. Harry smiled broadly. His two best friends were great, and he would miss them so much. A half hour to talk every once in a while was nothing compared to the long talks and the times they always shared. Now he was in the very presence of evil, and neither of his friends could help. Yet was he really in presence of evil? Dumbledore had said that he was safer here than anywhere else. If it was that safe, then why did he have such a bad feeling about all this? Why did the same questions pop up in his head and why did he doubt everything that Dumbledore said? Harry fell asleep in a tangle of gift wrap and presents, dreaming of his true home so far away.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
  
  
In another room in another part of the castle, Draco was gazing intently at his orb, watching a clan of Death Eaters plan another raid on Muggles in upper London. Draco had already informed Dumbledore of this and was tiring of watching the same boring conversation. He sighed, falling back into his ruffled sheets and clutched the sphere with both hands. Curiosity overcame him, and Draco found his mind drifting away from his intended task. There had been countless times Draco would have given anything to have his orb with him at Hogwarts. The things he could have done to Potter and his friends! But unfortunately, because of his father, he was forced to leave it at the Manor. So now he had Potter practically in his hands. Whatever should he do? Grinning maliciously, Draco summoned a certain image to appear.  
  
Harry was laying among a pile of wrapping paper, his mouth gaped open, hands and feet sprawled every which way. Draco laughed loudly, but immediately stifled his initial outburst quickly. Covering up any kind of laughter that sounded fun and carefree was a specialty of Draco's. Instead he focused on how utterly ridiculous Harry looked, soaking up his lowly gifts like a fat, muddy pig soaking up sun. Draco cleared the image, settling into his covers with an uplifted spirit. Draco scoffed to himself at how inferior Harry was to him, and prided himself on having excellent breeding and refinement. It only figured that Potter would enjoy such ridiculous gifts, being that they came from his group of friends and acquaintances. If only Harry would have just been smart enough to have been Draco's friend in the first place. Draco flinched, pushing the memory from his mind. It was enough that his mother had died, now he was stuck with a common low-brow orphan without his own thoughts betraying him. He slept that night as he did all other nights, his mind tiring itself out from his constant train of bothersome thoughts.  
  
  
  
  
  
Will Harry make it to breakfast tomorrow? Will someone save Harry? Will Draco catch Harry 'polishing his wand' in the Orb of Visions? 


	3. Coping With His Situation

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other characters (besides Misma and Draco the ferret) belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
Chapter 3- Coping With His Situation  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The bedroom was gradually lit by a blanket of sunlight, sneakily pulling itself across the floor toward Harry's bed. With its fiery hands it pulled itself onto the bed and slinked across it, coming to rest on Harry's face. Still in a dreamlike state, Harry's eyes fluttered open gracefully to meet the clinging light. Harry yawned and distantly wondered if Ron was up for a snowball fight today. He looked next to him and was momentarily shocked to see that there wasn't another bed there. He then sighed, remembering where he was with a sinking heart and a deep groan. What a horrible Christmas he was bound to have! Harry pulled his knees up to his chin, trying to make himself as small as possible. He sat like that for a few minutes, sulking, before he was rudely interrupted. A loud banging of the door came first, then the all too familiar sight of black and silver, which Harry now knew as the ugliest colors known to mankind. Harry barely looked up, favoring Malfoy with a look that would have bothered anyone else. Malfoy merely stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, his nose cocked into the air. Harry snorted.  
  
"If it began to rain you'd drown with your nose that high up," Harry intoned, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Malfoy glared, his eyes squinting into two thin lines.  
  
"Breakfast is in ten minutes."  
  
"I'm not going, thank you."  
  
"I figured you wouldn't, so I'll be eating alone and you can just starve until you decide to drop your pompous attitude." Malfoy paused while Harry let out a laugh. Draco raised his face high into the air, closing his eyes in a superior way. "Which you won't, so I'll just be leaving now. No use wasting Christmas morning looking at garbage, now is it?"  
  
"Sod off, Draco."  
  
"Sodding, Mr. Potter," Malfoy chortled, slamming the wooden door behind him. Harry growled in frustration, fruitlessly throwing a pillow at the closed door. He once again slumped into the haphazardly thrown bed sheets in misery. What was he going to do, stuck in this horrid mansion? Harry groaned loudly, all of a sudden feeling uncomfortable in whatever position he lay in. His eyes lazily scanned the room before they fell on a door in the corner leading to a tiled bathroom. He instantaneously felt grimy all over and decided that a shower would be a welcome relief at that moment. He walked into a room lined in marble, and was slightly surprised at the grandeur of even this small tower's bathroom. Harry unceremoniously stripped himself and turned to look at himself in the mirror. The mirror showed only half his body, the lower cut off from the mirror. He ran a hand through his hopeless mass of hair, wondering if he could somehow use a binding spell on it. Harry never found himself attractive, nor tried to make himself attractive to others. He knew that all anyone ever liked him for was for his celebrity status, with the exception of his close, inner circle of friends. He felt like he wasn't attractive at all. Well, the top 10 hottest guys in Hogwarts list did have his name at the top. Then there was that group of first year girls that were often seen following him around, giggling. As well as Mrs. Weasley gushing that he had turned into an "extremely handsome young man". Not discounting the other fifty or so other evidences of his growing attraction. He smirked at the mirror, remembering Hermione informing him that one of the main reasons he was 'so sexy' was because he didn't have a clue in his head. He was humble and shy around girls, yet so brave in battle. A true heartthrob. He shook his head and continued to play a strange staring contest with his reflection as if hoping the other would back down. But as reflections go, it only backed down when Harry turned to begin his bath.  
  
He stooped low, trying to figure out how to enter the shower. There were no handles, and it wouldn't push open. Harry silently begged the door to open, hoping against all hopes that the shower did not require a password. How silly would he be if he had to find Malfoy to coax the password from him! Harry stared perplexedly at the shower door for a few minutes, but then grew restless and turned frantic, pounding on the door. As if the door was succumbing to him, the door vanished long enough for Harry to step into the shower. He was confused for a mere second before he realized that he had once been notorious in his youth for making things happen when he was angry or scared. Harry felt slightly edgy, also remembering that every time he did accidental magic was when he was with the Dursley's. Thinking of this only confirmed his belief that being in Malfoy manor was similar to being stuck in his cupboard once again.  
  
Harry reached for the quartz taps, turning on the water and suiting it's temperature to his preference. Hot water beat relentlessly on his frigid skin and he felt his shoulders considerably relax. Drawing himself into the steam the heat mixed with water created, he sighed contentedly, bowing his head, rolling his shoulders in pleasure, and bracing his hands on the heated marble in front of him. Droplets of water collected into larger drops that trickled over his now flushed skin. He moaned softly before snapping out of the sensations he was falling into. He felt utterly ridiculous now, shamefully realizing that he had gotten overly excited, no, more like absorbed in his shower. He shook his head roughly, reaching for a bar of soap on a shower ledge. He turned the hot water down a bit, keeping the water itself chaste. He started off by rubbing the soap uninterestedly across his skin. Then when had started to spread it across his chest, he lingered a bit on his lower abdomen, scrubbing a trail of milky suds in all the right spots. As if teasing himself (A/N: Ok, does anyone else feel naughty reading this as I feel writing this? Talk about dirty and enticing! Anyways..) He diverted the soap trail to the scruff of his neck, running it sensually around to the base of his neck, lifting his chin as he nudged the soap to tickle the soft skin. Going back to it's original intention, Harry once again set the soap's course down south, grazing his nipples.Harry jolted as if shocked, feeling violated and raped by his own hand. Determined not to let anything lustful happen again, Harry took the violating soap in his palm fully, making mechanical movements across the rest of his body in grim earnest. Although he had thoroughly cleaned his body, Harry hesitated on shampooing his hair. He remembered all too well the muggle commercials that advertised shampooing one's hair to be sexually arousing.  
  
Harry happened to glance at the bar of soap that had caused him so much grief. He discovered the Malfoy crest magically bound to the soap. Harry scowled at it intently, but felt a small, somehow redundant pang of guilt upon doing so. Lucius Malfoy was now dead along with his wife Narcissa. Before all Harry could concentrate on was his own discomfort and his loathing of everything involving the essence of a Malfoy. Now he took his time wondering how Malfoy's parents had died. Lucius Malfoy was a confirmed member of the Death Eaters, Voldemort's clan of loyal henchmen. He obviously died because of his involvement in Voldemort's inner circle. The thing that Harry couldn't figure out was Malfoy's reaction to their deaths. In the past whenever Malfoy threatened or showed his superiority to anyone, he always mentioned what had become a famous catch phrase, 'My father'. Yet when he told Harry that his parents had died, not an ounce of emotion seeped into his voice at the mention of his father. Yet when he spoke of his mother, something had triggered grief in his voice and demeanor. Certainly he had to be upset over his parents dying, this Harry knew. But was his mother held in higher esteem than his father? Harry didn't know the answers to his blatantly rhetorical questions, but he knew that in time he would fit the puzzle pieces together. After all, he thought derisively, I have nothing better to do.  
  
Tired from the once invigorating (albeit bothersome) shower, Harry turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist. He walked from the bathroom, muttering 'candes nox' before he realized he didn't have his wand. The lights turned out anyway, and Harry figured they just turned off whenever anyone left. He shivered slightly as cold air met his wet skin, shocked to see a change of clothes placed tidily in the center of his now neatly made bed. Harry walked around, amazed to find that the Christmas wrapping paper was out of the floor and all his presents were piled on a corner table next to the window seat. He also smelled a slight scent of pine in the air, and he breathed in the freshness. Feeling slightly foolish, Harry remembered that wealthy wizards owned house elves. It was true he was worried about finding clothing, but he should have known that it would be provided for. He would have to adjust quickly to this lifestyle if he was going to have the upper hand with Malfoy. He just hoped that the dress robes before him did not belong to Malfoy. Fingering the intricately woven cloth he knew they were about the same size, but he rationalized that his fear of wearing his Malfoy's clothing was entirely unfounded. He was sure Malfoy had enough clothes to wear at least two different changes once a day for a year. He slipped the clothes on, feeling slightly naked without his usual muggle clothing beneath the robes. The robes were a dark blue and had several layers for winter weather, perfect for venturing outside in.  
  
Feeling emboldened, Harry reasoned that he could at least roam outside the castle. He searched quickly for a cloak, finding a matching blue one in a closet now filled with various sets of robes for his disposal. He gave himself a small glimpse in a mirror to make sure everything was in place before setting off from his new room.  
  
It wasn't until the door clicked shut that Harry realized that he had no clue where he was going. He knew he was going outside, but how was he going to find the exit, let alone the staircase that gets there? Harry sucked in a breath, reminding himself that walking down a hallway was considerably easier than anything he had ever done. So why was he sweating so profusely? Determined not to let the empty corridors get him down, Harry resorted to gazing at the moving portraits. Completely predictable were the portraits themselves. The entire Malfoy line was shown, some portraits which must have dated back centuries. When Malfoy said pure blood, he had definitely meant it. Each ancestor had the distinctive pointy face, pale skin, and some even had the exact same smirk. Harry rolled his eyes. He didn't give a damn how rich and pure blood this family was. In all forms of speaking, it was just pure evil. Well, perhaps not pure. In fact, evil wasn't entirely true of the family. All moved in an aristocratic way, holding themselves with dignity. Yet Harry knew that behind the faces frozen in action in the painting there was cowardice and arrogance.  
  
Feeling a bit more lost than before, Harry had come upon a choice of staircases. One set led straight up to what appeared to be another tower, and the other headed steeply downwards. Harry shrugged, figuring that going down was easier than going up. The hallway surprisingly didn't get darker, but seemed to light itself every few feet or so. More portraits were shown, more up to date ones. As he arrived in a circular room encrusted with crystal, a mural was displayed proudly in the farthest wall not shrouded by crystal. It was the most recent family painting, done what seemed to be just a few years back. Lucius Malfoy was younger and barely moved except to blink and arrogantly smirk at Harry. Narcissa Malfoy stood next to him in her best robes, looking quite startling in the picture. She didn't smile, but Harry felt that Narcissa desperately just wanted to throw away her pride and start waving madly at Harry. Nestled between his two parents was an extremely young Draco Malfoy, only of about five years old. His face mimicked his father's, and Harry once again felt a slightly strange sympathy for Draco. How could a five year old be so obedient and hateful? He wondered briefly if it had something to do with Lucius' hand clasping Draco's shoulder so firmly. Harry pulled himself away from the ghostly picture and set himself back on his task.  
  
He rounded corners, ducked under hangings, and skirted past dozens of end tables to find nothing. Perhaps Malfoy mansion had a charm on it where anyone who was not a Malfoy instantly got lost for years. Harry finally found some sort of room, but his face fell as he realized that it was a kitchen. His heart fell soon after that when he heard Malfoy's voice booming in the room, ordering around house elves. Harry tiptoed forward, sneaking a peek into the kitchen to see what was going on.  
  
"Stupid bloody bastard, he's so damn arrogant.The Boy-Who-Lived can't eat breakfast with everyone else because no one's there to wipe his ass afterwards!" Malfoy ranted, occasionally knocking pots and pans onto the floor. A pair of house elves followed their master, blindly cleaning up whatever he knocked to their level. Each house elf wore a potato sack and looked so woebegone that Harry was beginning to see what Hermione fussed about with her S.P.E.W. campaigns. One particular house elf, its ears flapping like wings beating, accidentally tripped over a skillet. Malfoy didn't take any notice as the house elf, to Harry's horror, began beating itself over the head with said skillet. Angered beyond belief and remembering Dobby, a former Malfoy manor house elf, Harry made angry moves to walk straight into the room when Draco heard the crashing sounds himself and whirled around in what was definitely anger. Draco ripped the skillet out of the house elf's trembling hands, holding it over his head as if to strike. But he did not strike, but placed the pot in a sink and picked the house elf up and deposited him on a counter.  
  
"Tell me, elf, what would Lucius Malfoy do if he were still here, hm?" Draco questioned, his face taking on an extremely calm yet intimidating _expression. The house elf trembled pathetically, terrified of its own answer and not trusting itself to speak.  
  
"M.m..Mr. Malfoy would.t.t.tell us to.keep.hitting ourselves, sir."  
  
"Who is the master of this house, elf?"  
  
"You are, young Malfoy."  
  
"That's right, elf. So from now on, my word is law. If I see one elf in here harm themselves in any way, I will fire them and make sure that no one bothers to employ your shameful, scummy selves again," Malfoy concluded, setting the elf back on the floor. Malfoy gave one final swell of superiority before departing from the kitchen. With the coast clear, Harry dashed past bewildered house elves to find that there was a back door in an adjoining room. Harry flung open the back door, inhaling the sweet smell of fresh snow and cool winter air, momentarily forgetting his earlier encounter. He began walking out towards the wide expanse of the Malfoy estate, the incident making itself more evident in his mind.  
  
The scene in the kitchen had shocked him beyond all belief. He had deliberately ordered a house elf not to hit itself, the exact opposite of what Lucius Malfoy would have done. Once again Harry had that weird feeling that Malfoy had changed overnight. The thing that didn't make sense was when exactly did Malfoy change his attitude? The moment Lucius had died? Before he died? Then again, who was to say that Malfoy had changed at all? He still acted rotten toward Harry, so that hatred was still intact. Perhaps Malfoy just hated elves hitting themselves. At least Malfoy has at least one shred of decency, Harry thought, but was not comforted by that thought. He smiled merrily as he imagined Hermione's reaction on Malfoy's boycott of house elf abuse. It certainly put a new twist on things. Abandoning his train of thought he gazed across what he guessed to be the "backyard" of Malfoy manor, except it must have been at least one acre larger than the Dursley's backyard. A brick wall closed off Malfoy manor to the world, except common sense told Harry that there was more than a single brick wall protecting Malfoy manor. What made this desolate castle safer than Hogwarts? The mere fact that he was sent without his knowledge was insulting enough, and Harry wanted nothing more than to know why he couldn't just stay at Hogwarts and face Voldemort already. What good is it to come here, get his wand taken away, and waste time forgetting all the spells he had learned? What did Dumbledore want him to learn here? It must be some sort of survival thing, because there was no way it could be anything more. Harry sighed, trying to clear his mind that had been whirring nonstop ever since he had entered the hall, and that was still buzzing with unanswered questions.  
  
Harry circled a small pond further out, looking at the animals flourishing inside. A sort of purple frog jumped onto a spinning lily pad, lashing out his tongue to eat passing bugs. If a bug wasn't near, it would open its mouth wide and turn on some sort of 'fly vacuum' as flies zoomed in like metal to a magnet. He smiled as some of the fish flipped into the air, showing off their brightly flashing colors. It seemed as if even the fish around here were magical. Animals Harry had never seen scampered back and forth, including a half-Squirrel, half-Dragon creature that tried to burn the hem of Harry's robes when he looked away for too long. A stork-like bird swooped down to get itself a fish, immersing itself into the animated pond. He felt like he was being watched at all angles and he had a sneaking suspicion that the trees themselves were able to uproot themselves and change their location. He walked until he reached the other side of the wall, pausing just to look at it. What if he was to escape? Could he? Harry looked around him for something to get him over the wall, and eventually found a rock pushed up against the wall. Harry climbed the rock , hooking his feet expertly into crevices and lifting himself to the top. At one point he scraped his knee, cursing in an undignified manner as he managed to pull himself to the very last crevice, up and over the side of the rock with a great multitude of effort. He stood on the rock as best he could with his now bleeding knee, staring out over the wall. He gasped when he looked, shocked beyond all words at what he saw.  
  
The sun was no longer it's golden yellow color, nor was it just by itself. Two purple suns stood beside each other instead. Yellow clouds stretched across a teal sky, reflecting the sun's purplish hue. There was no ground seen, only a dark void to which nothing escaped. A lone dragon lazily propelled itself across the sky, and flying faeries and pixies swooped down to laugh and dance to get Harry's attention. On a distant cloud another home was there, except it was made from clouds and other colorful wisps of materials. Harry gazed in wonder at this fairy-tale world, wondering if what he was seeing was real or only a hallucination. He wondered what would happen if he jumped over the wall. On one hand, he could fall into oblivion. On the other, he could land flat on his feet with the countryside of England before him. He didn't have long to figure it out, however, as he felt something tug his robe and he tumbled back onto the soft grounds of Malfoy manor. Harry adjusted his misplaced glasses, feeling his spirits dampen as he stared up at a profoundly cross Malfoy.  
  
"The hell were you doing? Going to fly away, are we?" He yelled, staring down inelegantly at Harry. Harry ignored Malfoy's question, his mind still reeling through the fantasy world outside the castle.  
  
"Was that real?" Harry asked, sounding amazingly curious rather than bothered by Draco's shouts. Draco was taken off guard for a second before screwing his face in a look of pure loathing and stared down at Harry's curious face.  
  
"Of course it's not real. It's a special blocking charm used at this mansion since it was built. One step over that wall and you'd plummet down the face of a mountain. I don't fancy trying to tell Dumbledore why his golden boy chucked himself down a mountain, so don't try going over it." Malfoy was frothing in anger, turning around swiftly and slipping slightly on the slick ground. He managed to right himself and walked with renewed superiority. Harry chuckled, pleased that Malfoy had embarrassed himself even a tiny bit.  
  
Harry immediately decided not to go back into the castle, not wanting to see Malfoy's face anymore. Instead, he fell backwards from his sitting position and started making a snow angel. He felt a little silly, since it had been a few years since he had allowed himself to play in the snow without a snowball fight ensuing. His long legs kicked together and he even laughed a bit, not fully understanding why he did. He stopped after a bit, a smile still playing on his face. The memory of the fantasy world outside of the castle walls had somehow brightened his spirits immensely. Harry smiled broadly as snowflakes sprinkled softly onto him and stared at the gray sky above him. He stopped smiling, however, as he heard an audible rustle next to his head.  
  
Harry sat up quietly, twisting his body around while supporting his upper body with one hand on the ground. He peered curiously at a small, dark green bush ahead of him, growing against the brick wall. The bush gave another startling shake, causing Harry to jump slightly in fear. Then Harry realized how completely ridiculous he was, jumping in fear of a bush. The- Boy-Who-Lived, eh?, Harry thought disgustedly. They won't be writing this 'battle' in any books. Harry stood up completely, tiptoeing towards the shuddering bush. Harry stretched his arms out, closing in on the bush. Within the space of a nanosecond, Harry split the leaves of the bush apart and something that resembled a ball of snow flew into his face. Harry let out a very unmanly scream, flailing around helplessly as the thing clung to him and then dropped. Harry pawed at his face, still shocked that there was once something squirming on it. Common sense caught up to him and he looked down. A bundle of white was curled up in the snow, shuddering violently. It seemed as if the creature was just as scared by Harry as Harry was by it. Harry reached down and touched the creature. The thing uncurled itself and Harry gasped in surprised delight when a snow white ferret stared timidly up at him. Harry reached out and picked it up, holding the ferret close to his chest. After a few seconds the ferret stopped shivering, falling into the heat of Harry's body.  
  
"You poor thing," Harry cooed, petting the ferret lovingly. The ferret turned its head to look at Harry and inched it's face near to him. Harry was slightly scared since he knew that ferrets did bite. His feelings went away, however, as the ferret started to tickle his nose with its licking tongue. Harry giggled, snuggling with the ferret.  
  
"Hm, looks like we're both stuck in this castle," Harry whispered, walking with his newfound pet. Upon arriving at the castle, Harry realized that Malfoy might not want a ferret in his house. The fake Mad-Eyed Moody had once turned Malfoy into a ferret, much to the delight of Harry and his friends. For the next three years at Hogwarts they teased him mercilessly about the incident, loving the sport of taunting their arch-nemesis so much that they did it whenever plausible. Thinking of this, Harry hesitated, but then decided that if Malfoy hurt his ferret, he'd hurt Malfoy equally.  
  
"Know, what? I think I'll name you Draco."  
  
  
  
*******  
  
  
  
"What the hell is that thing?" Malfoy asked slowly, anger lacing his voice. They were standing face-to-face in the middle of a dimly lit anteroom. Draco had his arms crossed across his chest, trying not to strangle Harry. Harry smiled at him coyly, holding onto Draco with pride.  
  
"His name is Draco the ferret," He announced, grinning at the look of horror on Malfoy's face.  
  
"I refuse to have that disgusting animal in this house."  
  
"Disgusting? The only disgusting animal here is you," Harry said, rubbing his nose to the Draco the ferret's pinkish nose and cooing softly.  
  
"Don't make me have to hex that rodent. Now put it outside or I will."  
  
"Hex Draco and I have every right to kill you in your sleep."  
  
"I can protect myself by magic. You don't have any magic, now do you?"  
  
"I may not have magic, but you can't hide in your room forever. Besides, the house elves wouldn't notice if I slipped some poison into your dinner. I can make poison, now, can't I?" Malfoy rolled his eyes, but didn't seem to find any comeback.  
  
"Fine, keep the damn thing. But if that thing gets near me, it's dead."  
  
"Deal. Now, if you'll excuse me." Harry tried to push past Malfoy, but Malfoy blocked him from going up the staircase.  
  
"You have to report to Dumbledore that I'm not killing you. Mind you, I am very close and the temptation is killing me. However, I am not one to shirk my responsibility, at least when it concerns my own well-being."  
  
"Own well-being? How do I concern your own well-being?"  
  
"Not you yourself, idiot. I have reasons for keeping you here, not just to protect you. In fact, I'd be the first one to throw you to Voldemort. Not only the first, but the one who would enjoy it the most."  
  
"After Voldemort, yes."  
  
"I'm tired of conversing with you, so let's just get this over with." Draco walked back into the room he came from, now followed reluctantly by Harry. The room was a sort of private study with burgundy walls and a bookcase in the corner. Malfoy sat down in a large armchair, plucking his enchanted orb off a coffee table and gazing into its depths. Harry sat in an opposite chair, his mind slightly intrigued with what he was about to see. Once again, the orb showed Dumbledore's office, except this time there were two figures sitting across from his desk. Harry recognized them immediately.  
  
"Ron! Hermione!" Harry yelled, forgetting all decency and rushing over to Malfoy to look over his shoulder. Malfoy gracefully moved his head in annoyance, standing up in his seat.  
  
"You probably have bugs or something. Here." He gave Harry the orb, and Harry eagerly took it, ignoring the insult and looking rapturously at his friends. Harry smiled fully for the first time that day, gazing longingly at his two best friends who held gingerbread men in their waving hands. Draco snorted disdainfully at the scene, mumbling something about 'uncultured brutes'. Harry directly ignored him, still smiling like an idiot at the image of his friends. They appeared very well rested and well kept, wearing Weasley sweaters and pushing aside other gifts as not to upset Harry.  
  
"Harry! Happy Christmas!" Ron guffawed, overjoyed at the fact that he was talking to Harry.  
  
"How's..everything?" Hermione asked, abruptly silencing Ron's gleeful noises. Ron listened too, leaning close as if Harry would start whispering. Feeling no need to disguise his emotions, however, Harry simply let out a long string of thoughts and feelings.  
  
"Well, Malfoy is worse at home than he is at school, seeing that he thinks he's doing some sort of charity by locking me up with him. I barely had anything to eat, since he's so full of himself that he thinks I'm going to look at him during my meals. To tell the truth, if I had anything to say about it, which I don't, I'd be there with you all, happily eating and drinking. Except now I'm here, with that." Harry pointed accusingly at Malfoy, and Malfoy smirked, pointing to himself and mouthing 'me?' Harry scowled, resisting the urge to jump him in front of his friends. Ron and Hermione saw this, looking appropriately angry for Harry's benefit.  
  
"Well, Harry, we've tried discussing it with Dumbledore but he said it's in your best interest," Hermione said politely.  
  
"We also tried blackmailing him, but it seems that he has a lot more on us than we do of him," Ron mentioned. Harry smiled at theirefforts , sitting back in his chair and sighing.  
  
"I know Dumbledore has my best interests at heart, but why here? Doesn't he understand that I'm on the very forefront of this damned war every day?"  
  
"A bit dramatic, aren't we?" Malfoy slurred, looming above Harry like some sort of ghastly beast. Ron scowled, glaring at Draco.  
  
"Look here, you. If you do anything to hurt Harry I will beat your skinny arse into the ground."  
  
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you. You see, with so much money around me, I can't hear anything poor." Ron's hair prickled in anger and he looked embarrassingly ready to attack at nothing. Harry glared at Malfoy, shooting daggers at him. Malfoy smirked, stepping back and daring Harry with his eyes to strike. Harry sighed, suddenly fatigued and ready to ponder things in his own room. Harry pointedly ignored Malfoy, looking back at the comforting image of his friends.  
  
"Harry, I don't know anything for sure, but please stay strong. We'll miss you, and we've locked up your things and your broomstick." Harry's throat tightened. The painful reminder of missing out on quidditch was engulfing him, and Harry didn't feel much like talking anymore.  
  
"I have to go." Harry set the orb on the table. The scene cleared immediately, leaving the room in silence. The swishing of a cloak was audible as Malfoy left the room. Harry buried his face in his hands, mulling over this information in his mind. He didn't even know if he could last until tomorrow let alone a week or more. Something had to be done, and Harry was determined to do it.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
What will Harry do, go ballistic or take another heated shower? Does Harry think too much? Will Ron and Draco have a sordid love affair? 


	4. Reminiscing of the Past

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other characters (besides Misma and Draco the ferret) belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
Chapter 4-Reminiscing of the Past  
  
  
  
The next few days crawled by, and Potter was proving a point. Exactly what that point was, he couldn't say, but whatever it was sure wasn't swaying on Potter's part. Ever since he had talked with his friends, Potter hadn't left the confines of his tiny room. Well, not Potter's room-Draco's room that Harry had appropriated, which Draco had let him use so wouldn't hear Potter complain all the time. Which, unfortunately, he did anyways. Perhaps not complain, but he never made anything pleasant either. Yes, Potter was a rather annoying house guest. Since he stubbornly refused to eat anything in his presence, Draco had been forced to send a tray of food to his room, care of a house elf. The whole situation was enormously disturbing, and Draco couldn't figure out what Potter's problem was. Even if he was taken against his own will to Malfoy manor, Potter should have been on his hands and knees begging Draco to take him under his wing. Oh, and what a regal wing that was!  
  
Today was turning out to be a rather dull day. Draco had at first wandered around aimlessly, startled that he had nothing important to do all day long. In Draco's former life, everything was about staying busy and never idling around. Draco smiled widely at this thought, hardly containing his excitement at the freedom he now possessed.  
  
Draco was currently taking a tour of his own home out of boredom, admiring his newly acquired possessions that had been left his after his parents' death. Smashing a vase in his father's room proved to be highly therapeutic and Draco was currently on the prowl for something large and expensive Lucius used to own. Upon entering his mother's room, however, all thoughts of vengeance dissipated. Contrary to most married couples, Draco's parents slept in opposite rooms. It was excruciatingly difficult to believe that Draco hadn't noticed his parents' lack of adoration long ago. Perhaps, like most things in Malfoy manor, their love life was kept from Draco. He walked into the frigid room, not daring to touch a single thing that belonged to his mother. His throat tightened as he came upon her closet and Draco reached out with one of his slender hands to open the ornate door and feel the fine silks and extravagant robes and dresses his mother once wore. He sighed a bit, remembering how she loved to put on her old ragamuffin clothes and play with Draco in the garden when his father went on Death Eater business. His gaze fell downward and he smiled as he saw a wooden box buried beneath mountains of shoes and other clothing. Draco opened the lid, a true smile spreading across his lips as he recognized the box. Inside were dozens of pictures of him and his mother, laughing and playing happily in their 'secret garden'. It was Draco's happiest memories, and the moving photos ignited that happiness in his heart once more. Then he came across a picture of him playing with a muggle basketball and a fresh set of memories overtook him.  
  
Lucius didn't allow his son to see any of Narcissa's family, simply because they were muggle lovers and were a kindly bunch. According to Lucius, Narcissa's family was a frail, cowardice family that shrouded the Malfoy's illustrious pedigree with commonality. Narcissa, endangering her own place in society and well-being, always showed Draco the hidden 'magic' of the muggle world. One of his favorites being the art of dancing. Lucius found dancing to be only a social event and consisted of two or three types of waltzes that conformed to any situation. Narcissa taught Draco many forms of dance, one of his favorites being interpretive and the tango. Draco turned to an embarrassing, albeit cheery, photo of himself at the age of 10 learning how to tap dance. He frowned in a way that only a select few knew to be a truly sad Draco. It was the most powerful emotion he showed, since a Malfoy never cries. Though Draco hated his father with an ever growing passion, he still held some of the same beliefs that he and many other more respectable family members had.  
  
Draco soon found that he was tired of looking at his childhood artifacts and opted to spend some more time with his orb. Although he knew that he spent an unseen amount of time staring into it, he was loathe to admit that it was growing into an obsession. With a little more gusto than was usually apparent in his mannerisms, Draco flounced on his bed, wobbling slightly on his charmed bed which acted like a water bed without the water. He grasped the orb with both hands, eagerly conjuring an image he could ridicule. An image sprang to mind and Draco grinned mischievously, his mind boldly going toward that particular image. The orb showed the staff room at Hogwarts and zeroed in on the current teacher inside. It was Professor McGonagall drinking a glass of some herbal tea, looking boring as usual. But Draco knew this was a ruse, and something profound was about to occur. As if his mind controlled the image, his former teacher started humming a catchy tune from a popular wizard band and started shaking her hips to a beat that existed in her own mind. Draco threw back his head of fine blonde hair and laughed raucously. The image-McGonagall was now doing some sort of shake with her arms and was soon kicking her legs and dancing madly as if she had never danced before. Though from the looks of her technique, Draco could only say that she hadn't. His ruddy face pinched in held-in laughter, Draco cleared the image from the orb, not able to watch any longer. He erupted into a fit of giggles, burying his face in his arms.  
  
As he did this, the orb seemingly out of its own thoughts came upon the image of Harry Potter in his bathroom, steam billowing around his head. Draco looked up to wipe his eyes and spotted the image. He immediately stopped laughing, wondering what he was doing beside the bathtub with his clothes on. The answer came immediately when a soapy rat slopped water across bathroom tiles. Instead of scolding his newly acquired pet, Potter simply laughed and rubbed some more pet shampoo in its filthy coat. Draco stopped himself, trying to remember when he had ever owned a pet, let alone had any kind of pet shampoo in the house. He quickly scanned the room and noticed a bottle of what appeared to be Draco's own specially formulated shampoo and conditioner. On closer inspection, he realized that it really was his own highly potent and highly expensive hair tonic which stayed locked in his room. How Potter had gotten to it was beyond him, and now was not the time to figure it out. With a flash Draco left the confines of his room, intent on showing Potter just how angry he could really get.  
  
Upon reaching the room, Draco blindly pulled the heavy door open, nearly foaming at the mouth in rage. He slammed the door behind him, shaking the thin tower walls. He stomped into the bathroom, halting mid- stride when he saw what kind of havoc was playing in this bathroom. Instead of crouching down at the side of the bathtub washing his pet, Potter was now in the bathtub, playing with his ferret. Potter appeared to have discarded his clothes and was efficiently scared at Draco's intrusion, his hands gripping the rat to his chest in an act of protection. An image came to his mind of Potter as Snow White, protecting woodland creatures and singing to them. Just as quickly the image cleared and Draco found words again.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Draco shouted. Harry's eyes widened then shrunk into slits, glaring at Draco from across the room.  
  
"You're asking me that? I'm not the one barging into other people's bathroom trying to peep at their privates!" Harry shrilly screamed back. Draco held one finger up, prepared to counter before the sickening thought of even being considered a peeping Tom, especially Potter's, teased his mind. He closed and opened his eyes, trying to physically clear the annoyance in them. It was not working.  
  
"Where do you get the audacity to accuse me of this?"  
  
"Ever since you decided that my bathroom was a public place!" Draco rolled his eyes.  
  
"Just where the hell did you get that shampoo, pray tell?"  
  
"This? It was in some other bathroom around here."  
  
"Exactly. Not yours. This shampoo." Draco grasped the bottle in his hand, holding it up for more effect, "Costs more than your life. It is made from a specialty shop halfway across the world, magically bound with the International Wizard's Hygiene seal of approval, and it is only available in Paris, France. And you, my oh so ignorant guest, used it on a filthy rat!"  
  
"He's not filthy!"  
  
"Only because you used my shampoo!"  
  
"Details, details," Harry murmured in a distracted way, looking around himself. Without any sort of pause or bother, Harry began lifting his wet form out of the bathtub. With a sharp swish of his robes, Draco had spun around in a complete 180, his eyes wide as saucers at the boldness of Potter. His eyes then narrowed as he realized that Potter could be doing this just to get some sort of rise out of him. Well, it would not work. The sound of barely contained snorts of laughter came from the bathtub, and Draco couldn't help but peer over his shoulder at what Potter thought was so funny. To his complete embarrassment, Potter was still clad in a pair of jeans; a pair of wet jeans; a pair of drenched jeans which clung tightly to the skin.  
  
"What's the matter Malfoy, feeling a bit bashful are we?" Spinning around to face him, Draco firmly stood his ground.  
  
"I don't want to tarnish my eyesight from something as completely ghastly as you."  
  
"Use all the big, fancy words all you want, Malfoy, but deep down you know that you admire my well-toned chest." Harry said in an overly pompous voice, slightly puffing out his chest in mock vanity. Draco set his eyes upon the ceiling, calmly trying to count to ten and quail his anger. It wasn't working. Not when Potter had taken to smirking condescendingly at Draco through a mess of raven hair. Sense once again claimed Draco's mind, allowing him to articulate his anger. As he spoke, he stepped closer and closer to Potter, intimidating him by his stature.  
  
"Fine. I'll use small, simple words to get my point across: I thought you were stupid and I was wrong; you are a complete retard. I think you look like a lot like your rat when you are wet. But most importantly, what you call a chest is merely a stomach with hardly a trace of nipples. I suggest you start eating a bit more, you look like a starved child. Easy enough for wittle Potter to understand?"  
  
"Malfoy, if you don't get the hell out of this room."  
  
"Touchy, are we Potter? Didn't feel quite so mad about me in here until I rained on your parade, eh Potter? I'll just have you know that if that rat smells like my shampoo ever again, I'll use his blood to make my next bottle of shampoo."  
  
"You bloody bastard!" Harry, powered by an unspeakable rage, bowled Draco over, fists and legs flying out to kick any part of Draco that they could touch. Draco was stunned at first, taking a few hits from Harry's lashing limbs, but then gathered his wits and pulled his wand out of his pocket. He had a difficult time getting it in the air, since Harry had taken to biting Draco's arm in the wholly indecent wrestling match. Draco soon had his wand over his shoulder, the only thought on his mind was controlling Harry somehow.  
  
"Expelliarmus!" Draco said before he realized that Harry was unarmed. A thin necklace Harry had around his neck broke and flew toward Draco. The necklace wrapped itself around Draco's wand. Draco cursed at the useless effect while shaking his wand, trying to figure out a new hex as Harry began punching him in the stomach.  
  
"Bindus!" Ropes lashed out toward Harry and a few managed to clasp around Harry's legs. One arm remained free, however, and Harry was not about to stop using it. Eventually Harry untangled himself from the ropes and started to hit Draco in the face. With blinding anger, Draco used the last curse he could think of.  
  
"IMPERIO!" Draco's voice filled Harry's mind, coaxing him to stop hitting. Harry was led to stop hitting, but remained firm in his anger not to be swayed. The voice was demanding, however, and Harry found himself wanting to drift away for a while, just to free himself of the anger he was experiencing. Everything seemed happy for a few seconds just before Harry snapped back into reality. With a shouted 'NO!' the spell was broken and a burst of multi-colored sparks shot throughout the bathroom, scaring Harry's pet ferret Draco into hiding behind the sink.  
  
When the sparks cleared, Harry and Draco were sitting with their legs sprawled in front of them, staring at each other. Draco with confusion on how Harry had escaped the temptation of the spell, and Harry with confusion on why a firework display had occurred when he broke the spell. Neither boy said a word to the other, both unable to fathom what had just occurred. The silence was broken when a large Tawny owl flew in through a window and dropped a letter onto Draco's head. The letter bounced into his lap, golden writing written regally across the front. Draco peered down at the letter, sighing deeply as if admitting defeat and opened the letter. As Draco's eyes scanned the letter, Harry found his discarded shirt next to him and casually slipped it on, shocked to find himself trembling. He had never blocked an imperious curse like that and was shocked beyond words that, even someone as horrible as Draco, would try to administer a Forbidden curse. Draco suddenly leaped into the air, exited the bathroom, and began pacing the small room. Harry simply watched him for awhile, hoping that someone had told him he was going to die in the next few days. Few hours. Few minutes... Harry's inquisitive mind couldn't stand the secrecy for long.  
  
"What is that?" Draco stopped his pacing, shooting an eyeful of daggers at Harry's sitting form. He scowled deeply, appearing to ask himself 'why me?'  
  
"This letter is from Misma D'Lune."  
  
"So? Who is that, someone from the Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked hopefully.  
  
"No, of course not. The D'Lune family agreed years ago, when I was born, that I was to wed their daughter when I reached the age of 18. I almost forgot that our year of courting is to start soon."  
  
"How soon?"  
  
"Tonight, it appears."  
  
"Tonight? You mean someone is going to be here at the castle besides you?" Harry asked loudly, standing to his feet, his eyes wide and staring unblinkingly.  
  
"Yes, apparently." Draco answered, arching an eyebrow in Harry's general direction. Draco wondered why Harry was so upset that their solitude would be interrupted, and something built up in Draco's chest, something that was difficult to ignore yet felt as if it needed to be quenched immediately. Harry appeared frantic, darting his eyes between Draco and the letter in a strange display of emotion. But then he smiled and put his hands gently on his hips.  
  
"Yes! Finally, someone to talk to other than you." Immediately the feeling consumed itself and hatred spread throughout Draco's body.  
  
"I wouldn't be too happy just yet, Potter. I'll have you know that the D'Lunes are very anti-Muggle and have more pureblood pride than a dozen Malfoy's combined." Harry's heart immediately fell; another Malfoy in the house, perhaps ten times as worse.  
  
"Just make sure to stay out of the way while I make preparations, and try to pretend that you don't exist." Harry was strongly reminded of the time the Dursley's had a dinner party and Harry was to pretend that he wasn't there. It was coincidentally the first time he met Dobby, a former Malfoy house elf that he had freed from the brutality of the Malfoy's. Harry plopped down on his bed, finding his Quidditch Through the Ages book Ron had sent him and began to read it for the hundredth time.  
  
"Is that the only book you ever read?" Malfoy asked, glancing at the cover.  
  
"How do you know what I read?" Harry asked defensively, lowering the book to glare at Malfoy.  
  
"You brought it to class lord knows how many times."  
  
"Why were you looking at me that much?"  
  
"Know your friends Potter; know your enemies better."  
  
"Another Malfoy code of valor?"  
  
"No, just simple common sense. Which you seem to lack. I am weary of conversing with you, even though I seem to win all these arguments. . . ."  
  
"You win more quidditch matches than you do arguments, Malfoy."  
  
"If it weren't for your fame, Potter."  
  
"Fame didn't beat you, Malfoy; it was natural skill. Something money can never buy."  
  
"Money can buy many things, an idea your friend Ron isn't very familiar with."  
  
"There's more to friends than money."  
  
"That's right.They must have a lot of money."  
  
"Just because you have money doesn't mean you're a good person."  
  
"So very true, and yet not so true." Draco stared disgustedly at the floor as Draco, Harry's ferret, slunk from the bathroom and crawled onto Harry's bed. Draco then looked up from his watch, challenging Harry with his next words.  
  
"What about brains?" he began, picking up Harry's amulet he had gotten from Hermion, tossing it playfully up and down in his palm. "I believe a person should be smart and have a good sense of the world around him. Ron is a bull-headed boy in poverty. Not friend material."  
  
"If being bull-headed is not friendship material then neither would pride, which you certainly don't lack," Harry stated as he rushed over to Draco and with a seeker's speed caught the amulet mid-toss. Draco frowned for a split second before regaining himself and smiling jovially.  
  
"Ah, touché! See, I guess I was wrong after all. If even you can be even half-way clever, then brains aren't everything. So I guess it all just comes down to how much money you have."  
  
"So you're saying that we're on the same level?"  
  
"I have much more money than you, Potter!" Draco spat, appalled at the idea of being anywhere near the same level as Harry.  
  
"Maybe so, but I still have most of the money my parents left me as well as the winnings I received playing quidditch.Oh no! I was going to try out for the England quidditch team this next year! How am I going to try out stuck in this bloody castle?!"  
  
"Luck?" Draco asked, shrugging his shoulders. Harry scowled sinking onto his bed. He rested his head in his hands. It was then that Harry realized that he didn't know how long he was going to be stuck in Malfoy's house. The idea of spending another day in the dismal castle was enough to send him stark raving mad, let alone weeks and months. The same idea seemed to cross Draco's mind, and one of the nastiest looks he had ever received was silently shot at Harry. Draco couldn't believe that he would be in the exclusive presence of Harry for an extended period of time. Countless times had he thought about sending Harry back to Hogwarts, but not even Dumbledore knew the true severity of the situation with Voldemort. No one but he saw the things Death Eaters did to their victims, and if Voldemort was to capture Harry, he would suffer a fate ten times worse than any normal victim. No matter how much he hated Harry, Draco did not want Harry to die in such a way. No one but Voldemort deserved that sort of death; not even his father. Especially not his mother..Draco's eyes welled up from the single thought, and without a rhyme or reason left the tower in a frenzy. Harry didn't mind the departure, but instead was grateful that he was alone. Draco the Ferret slinked out from underneath a feather pillow and nuzzled itself in Harry's lap. Harry smiled sweetly upon his new pet, scratching behind one of his ears. After Draco slipped off to sleep, Harry wandered over to the tiny window, starring out across the night sky. The sky swooped impressively as far as the eye could see and further. Thousands of stars burned a farther distance than Harry could ever hope to imagine, yet a little closer to home was a problem that was more difficult to fathom than the stars overhead. That problem was the issue of Draco Malfoy, and why he always had to be completely uncivil to Harry. Before the thought even crossed his mind twice, however, Harry quickly diverted his thoughts. Trying to find an answer for Malfoy's behavior was like asking the devil for an ice cube; it was just not done. Harry sighed and went to sleep without a thought crossing his mind again.  
  
*****  
  
Across the castle things were not so calm and serene. Draco had reached the confines of his bedroom and had started throwing various objects around, trying to quail his anger to no avail. He was angry at Potter, that he knew for sure. Yet secretly Draco was angry with himself for growing so emotional in front of Potter. Feeling his anger subsiding into silent rage, Draco positioned himself on his bed, staring out of the window where the ever present stars glowed thoughtfully in the great beyond. Draco soon lost interest, however, and cast the small feeling he had felt inside aside. He laid down in bed, not bothering to change into night clothes and hastily cleared his mind of all thoughts of his arch nemesis. He tossed and turned for a few minutes, finding his mind greedily clinging to superfluous thoughts and feelings that he would rather not deal with. Finally sleep overtook him and led him into another day.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Will Misma be a bad person? Why can't Draco stop thinking of Harry? Will McGonagall do a jig in another of my kinky bathroom scenes? 


	5. A New Year, An Old Fight

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other characters (besides Misma and Draco the ferret) belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
Chapter 5- A New Year, An Old Fight  
  
  
  
  
  
New Year's day had arrived at the manor, but nothing was different. The mansion, though thoroughly insulated, was colder than any ice at the most northern point on earth. An eerie silence had crept into the place, making itself known when any creature inside would try and talk. It grasped their voices with its chilling hand and halted any kind of sound. Used to silence, no matter how cold or sustained, Draco found himself almost normal again inside his home. It was no different than when his father was home, lurking around the castle and squashing in his presence any sort of humanity. Draco spent the cold nights before the New Year in front of the flame of a fireplace, reading any book that peaked his interest. He was delighted that Potter had finally learned to leave him alone, and whenever they happened to pass each other, a rare occurrence, they both looked the other way and passed wordlessly. Silence was music to Draco's ears, and he couldn't be any more pleased at this recent stroke of luck.  
  
Harry, meanwhile, had grown restless inside the manor. The past few days had been nerve-wracking and boredom ruled his actions. Emotions left him apathetic, and even his hatred for Malfoy had died down. Hate took too much energy, which Harry lacked, and Harry lacked the energy it would take to hate Malfoy appropriately. He grew slightly jealous at Malfoy's peacefulness, always wondering why Malfoy didn't look nearly as bored as he did. In fact, Malfoy appeared strangely calm and serene, and failed to make any sort of comment towards Harry the entire time. It grew to the point that Harry would have given anything for Malfoy to make fun of him; his boredom was that severe. Harry spent his nights days pacing his room, eating in the kitchens, or sleeping wherever he happened to be when he grew sleepy. Life grew dull and meaningless, but Harry never tried to ask Malfoy if he could talk to his friends. His life at Hogwarts seemed ages ago, and Harry felt, after just a little more than a week, that he was never to return to his old life again. Harry was stuck in a cold, silent world ruled by a tyrant that couldn't be bothered with human needs. Just when Harry felt as if his boredom would consume him for good, a sudden burst of energy propelled him to break the invisible chains shackled around his arms and legs.  
  
It happened the night that Misma was due to arrive for their second meeting and dinner. was due to arrive for her second meeting and dinner with Malfoy. Harry had spent the day watching the house elves busily prepare for the extravagant dinner that was to occur that night. Harry retreated back into his room just as trumpets blared outside the castle and a regal blue coach with white wings protruding from its sides glided magnificently to the ground in front of the drawbridge. From his view from stories above Harry could only see a tiny dot of a person come from the coach. Harry soon turned away, resigning himself to yet another night of boredom. The minutes dragged on as Harry laid on his bed, watching as the grandfather clock in the corner ticked away an hour and then two. Harry switched positions like an egg beater, tossing and turning to find a comfortable resting place. None worked. Harry sighed deep in his throat, laying his head on his arm. He stared lazily down at his arm hairs, snuffling the hairs so that they tickled his nose pleasantly. He watched through bleary eyes as Draco yawned and stretched his furry mouth, turning over on his back to face the ceiling next to his master. Harry couldn't remember ever being this bored at the Dursley's. He had spent much more time than this locked in that dreadful cupboard than he was spending in this spacious room, so why did he feel so light-headed and restless? Maybe it was because of the constant action he had thrust at him since the beginning of his schooling at Hogwarts. Despite his waned sense of excitement in smaller things, Harry still knew how to entertain himself extremely well. Now was one of those times to bring out the big guns. Harry decided to leave the tower and roam around the castle.  
  
Harry cracked open the heavy door, staring down the vast emptiness of the hallway. A draft blew his way, causing him to shudder slightly. Magical floating torches burned softly down the corridor and Harry felt an instant familiarity with his surroundings. Just before he stepped outside his door, Harry whipped back into his room, digging through the bottom of a drawer and coming up with his invisibility cloak. It had just appeared one night, and Harry had a nagging feeling that Dumbledore had something to do with it. Yet, like all of Dumbledore's doings, it was a complete mystery to Harry why he did it.  
  
Throwing the cloak securely over his shoulders, Harry left the room with a soft swooshing of his cloak. As he pulled the door shut, it did not close properly, so that it was left was cracked open ever so slightly. Having grown accustomed to wandering the halls at day or night, Harry skirted around pieces of decorative furniture, delicate vases, and looming statues to find himself in the drawing room. Positively giddy with mirth, Harry's footsteps quickened and grew lighter as he searched the room for the secret trapdoor that Malfoy had mentioned long ago, when he and Ron had used a Polyjuice Potion to change into Crabbe and Goyle; the secret hiding place of the Malfoy's dark arts assets. Scratching his head a few minutes later, Harry felt he should have known that the trapdoor would not be prominent in the room. On his hands and knees now, Harry searched in vain for any kind of differentiating crack or handle that could be the entrance to the underground stash. As he turned on all fours, a glimpse of a skittering ball of fur caught the corner of his eye. In horror, Harry realized that Draco the ferret had pushed his way out of the bedroom door and had decided to take his own stroll around the castle. Draco had entered the drawing room, sniffing at stacks of papers in a curious manner. Harry tried to grab Draco from his position on the floor, but Draco skirted around Harry's grip and ran from the room completely. Harry crawled on all fours to the door, peering around the edges of the doorframe. Harry only stared for a few seconds before realizing that Draco was headed toward the dining hall. Gasping in panic, Harry leapt to his feet, and, being as quiet as he possibly could, chased after Draco. Draco proved to be very hard to catch, zigzagging his way around tables and rugs, all the while leading Harry helplessly across the expanse of the entrance hallway.  
  
All of his efforts were suddenly in vain for Harry distinctly heard the sound of a womanly voice and the nauseating sound of Malfoy being 'charming'. Crawling stealthily across the floor and hearing murmurs of the conversation inside made Harry feel like a wildlife explorer set out to document the fleeing and mating habits of two ferrets. Harry kicked aside all thoughts as Draco dashed in front of his face and straight toward the grand double doors. Making one final blind leap, Harry managed to capture Draco in his outstretched hands. Grinning ear to ear in triumph, Harry petted Draco and cooed softly, more happy about his victory than angry at the actions of his pet. Greatly relieved, Harry decided to set off to the safety of his room, wary of making any more of a disturbance.  
  
Just as Harry turned on his heel to leave, a glitch in his escape plan made itself known. A huge statue that had once sat solidly in the hall had suddenly been able to move and was heading toward him quickly. With a strangled shout of fear, Harry fell backwards onto the doors and, as if they no longer existed, let him fall through to the dining room.  
  
Draco and Misma jumped to their feet at the unexpected explosion, their wine glasses shattering on the floor. Draco gripped a serving fork in his hand, protecting himself in what little ways he could. Misma clutched at her heart with a gloved hand, regaining her composure much sooner than the fork-clad Malfoy. Realizing it was Harry that interrupted their dinner, the fork clattered to the floor and Draco stared longingly at a sharp steak knife perched dangerously close to his itchy hand. They both glared at each other, a silent but furious battle to see who would look away first. Meanwhile, though outwardly startled, Misma became dignified and poised, looking none the worse for wear.  
  
Both Harry and Draco abandoned their war, looking toward Misma; Harry with a look of sincere embarrassment from his place on the floor and Draco with a look of apparent distaste. She smiled out of the corner of her ruby lips, illustrating both temptation and sympathy at the same time, as if quailing both Harry's and Draco's curiosity. Her hypnotizing blue eyes moved over both of them, and finally words materialized out of her strong and endearing mouth. "Well, this is quite a riveting moment!" With a graceful sweep of her shapely black dress with blacker sequins adorning the enchanting flow of material, she crossed the wide room to where Harry was hastily picking himself up, brushing off the sleeves of his dark blue sweater and then the legs of the faded pants he wore. Her demeanor expressed an unwavering aristocracy, and everything from her carefully placed black hair to her perfectly shaped fingernails exuded a lavish amount of regality and affluence. Despite Harry's humble appearance and lack of preparation for such an astonishingly beautiful well-wisher, Misma curtseyed fluently, offering an elegant hand to Harry. Without knowledge of proper customs of the wealthy, Harry opted to use his vague sense of etiquette and placed a kiss on her outstretched hand. Misma soon stood straight, her carved hairstyle staying in place behind a golden hair adornment. Misma gave Harry a charming grin, looking back toward Draco.  
  
"Draco, you never told me that Harry Potter was here. How very crass of you to hide the one who saved us all from my sight. However, I shall look past the insult of this and focus on how very courteous it is for you to share Malfoy manor with such a figure in our recent history. The rumors are true then, are they not?"  
  
  
  
"Rumors?" Harry asked, quirking an eyebrow.  
  
"The rumors that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was set on destroying you soon. I never would have guessed in all my life that you would be here at Malfoy manor, of all places. So, tell me, Harry, what influenced you to choose Malfoy manor?" Draco's face became flushed at this and Harry secretly wanted to jump up and down in triumph.  
  
"Well, I really didn't choose to be here."  
  
  
  
"Really now? I can't imagine a more safer place for someone of your magnitude! After all, you are the Harry Potter! What better company could you possibly be in than a Malfoy's?" Draco smirked from behind her, clearly pleased at her choice of words. Far from feeling pleased at her smart remarks and condescending manner towards Malfoy, Harry went into a feeling of distaste as she set Malfoy up for honor. Harry secretly thought that the company of Voldemort was preferred over the 'magnanimous Malfoy'. At least Voldemort would 'entertain' him.  
  
"Yes, what better indeed?" Draco asked pointedly, sweeping across the room to stand behind Misma. Harry was strongly reminded of a vulture descending upon a dead elephant carcass. Misma smiled and went closer to Harry. Harry's defenses immediately went up, and he felt himself backing away from Misma's strong presence. Misma reached out and gripped Harry's chin, angling it in a way so that she could see it without fault. Harry nervously stood still, letting Misma stare into his face. Her eyes never once lifted to look at his scar.  
  
"Well, I must be getting back to the mansion, father is waiting for me. It was a pleasure meeting you, Harry. I trust we will see each other again?" Harry nodded slightly, breathing a small sigh of relief as her hand fell back to her side. Misma turned and regarded Malfoy with a gentle nod of her head. She then walked from the room and the only departing sounds heard were her shoes clicking and her dress sweeping with each step. The dining room door shut with a resolute sound, leaving Harry and Malfoy in their silent battle. After a couple of minutes, Malfoy sliced the thick silence with his voice.  
  
"Who the hell do you think you are?" Malfoy hissed, his eyes lowering in an evil expression that could destroy poison. Harry, taken off guard by the strangeness of the question-and Malfoy's lack of striking vocabulary-could only blink numbly at the question. Angered by Harry's lack of an answer, Malfoy advanced upon him, getting as close as comfort would allow. Fueled by Malfoy's closeness, Harry pushed himself to full height and met Malfoy's death glare and matched it pupil to pupil. Harry tried to formulate an answer, but soon realized that the depth of the question was not the means for a fight; fights only consisted of short, precise questions, answers, and an abundance of swear words. Not wanting to deprive himself from a proper fight, Harry kept the conversation short and the anger abundant.  
  
"I should ask you the same." Harry watched in interest and Malfoy struggled over his own proposed question that required such an in-depth question. Malfoy also choose the easy way out.  
  
"Something you are not."  
  
  
  
"What, evil? Vain? Foul? Should I continue?"  
  
  
  
"Try not to; you might get a headache."  
  
  
  
"Better to get a headache from insults than tell praises and get a pain in the ass."  
  
  
  
"A Gryffindor mind is about as weak as extinguished dragon breath. Add a broken wing to that dragon and you have Harry Potter."  
  
  
  
"A Slytherin mind is less complicated, like a pile of dragon droppings. Well, you know what they say about the apple not falling far from the tree." Malfoy shook with anger, his face growing an unheard of shade of red.  
  
"It's a good thing you don't have parents Potter; they would have been ashamed to have you as a son."  
  
  
  
"At least my parents were worthy of life." Draco flinched, and Harry leaned forward a bit, wanting to delve into the subject but knowing that now was not the time for tranquil conversation.  
  
"Don't speak of things you don't know, Potter."  
  
  
  
"I only speak the same way you speak to me. You don't know my parents."  
  
  
  
"Neither do you."  
  
  
  
"I know, and it's all because of your father's employer." Harry noticed that Malfoy lowered his eyes slightly on that one, almost in an ashamed sort of way.  
  
"Though I try to deny it, I'm still my father's son," Malfoy said quietly, stepping closer to Harry and staring at him even harder, "Tread carefully." Harry became even angrier at this statement, even angrier than when Malfoy had badmouthed his friends or undermined his pride. His thoughts constricted into one want, one need. He had to leave Malfoy manor, no matter what it took.  
  
"No human being would admit to being your father's son. I cannot stay in the presence of a Death Eater's son, especially when it's you, Malfoy. I'd rather lick Voldemort's grimy feet than stay here and look at your mousy face for one more second. I'm leaving, somehow," Harry stated, his anger lessening by the words he spat. Now feeling in a more carefree mood Harry said his last few words to Malfoy, determined to get the last insult in. "By the way, your hair puzzles me," Harry started to walk by Malfoy to leave but stopped right beside him and leaned close to his ear. "Were you born with hair like that or do you actually think you look good in that hairstyle?" Harry smirked as Draco boiled underneath his gaze. Harry flicked Draco's stiffened hair, laughing as a hardened piece fell in front of one eye. Harry left quickly after that, not wanting to see Malfoy's reaction that badly. Harry stopped laughing halfway to his room, realizing that he had to escape now. Nothing was going to stop him, no matter what it took. He had already stated that he was going to do it, and Harry never went back on his word. A tight feeling of fear crept into him upon remembrance of the magical sky stretched before him and the words from Malfoy that below the illusion was a mountain face. Harry made it up to his room to get a few items from his friends and his pet Draco. Harry, on blind luck, managed to find a pack to put Draco into so he wouldn't get hurt. With his things packed and ready to go, Harry simply walked out of wooden doors that led into Malfoy manor.  
  
Frothing from Potter's sheer lack of respect and utter contempt of his image, Draco was at first glad to be rid of Potter. After all, if he left to get himself slain by Voldemort, then it was none of his business. He was tired of babysitting Potter and sick of being scared of a headmaster in a school that he no longer attended. He was on his own now, and Draco told himself that he couldn't be more happier. Draco had managed to calm himself down a tad before he heard the great wooden doors shut in the entrance hall. With his damaged hair forgotten and an evil glint in his eyes sparkling, Draco decided that he would not let Potter leave without a fight. Draco threw open the kitchen doors, heading for the only way out of the manor there was; to fly out.  
  
Harry fought his way through a mound of snow, nearly toppling over into an icy pit twice. Harry had rounded the castle and was now in the so-called backyard that now seemed ten times the size of any forest on earth. Harry finally made it to the wall where he had stood viewing the delightful spectacle and knew that he couldn't just jump over. Feeling a deep and tragic lost, Harry slumped against a tree, realizing that there was no obvious way of getting out of here. Just as he started wondering if there really was a mountain on the other side of the wall-and if dieing was really as bad as they say it is-Malfoy's voice cut through the quiet air and Harry saw him standing next to a covered broom shed that he had overlooked before, holding two Silverstreak XP brooms in his gloved hands and smirking for the entire world to see. Harry raised an eyebrow, instinctively sensing an unspoken challenge rise into the air. Harry hands itched at his sides, and the prospect of flying was enough to make him abandon his ideas of hurtling himself across a wall with no palpable end. From across the expanse of yard Draco stood with the two high-class brooms, feeling like a stranger offering candy to a sugar-deprived child. Even from this distance, Draco could see Harry's eyes gleam with a glazed _expression, one of intense competition and pride. Draco knew he had sparked a fire in Harry and relished in the idea that he had him in the palm of his hand.  
  
"Care for a game of Quidditch, Potter?" Draco drawled, moving closer with long, practiced steps of a man who was seemingly offering a great prize. Harry's head cocked to the side, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. After all, it wasn't every day that Malfoy wanted to play a happy little game of Quidditch. No more often than Snape wanted to give Harry a hug, anyway. Crossing his arms slowly, Harry glared at Malfoy, not letting his gaze drift for one moment away from him. Harry stood silent, waiting for Malfoy to speak first. Malfoy drew himself in his competitive stance, a posture he always seemed to be in around Harry. As if to seal his words, Malfoy set his foot on top of a box of Quidditch balls. Harry walked closer, a good stone's throw away from where Malfoy stood, waiting impatiently for Malfoy to speak  
  
"If you win, you can take the broom and fly wherever the bloody hell you and your rat are wanted. But if I win, you cannot leave until I say you can. In essence, you'll be my prisoner. Up for the challenge, or do you just want to go ahead and toddle off to your room?"  
  
  
  
"Why not just hand me the broom and save yourself the embarrassment?" Draco angrily threw one of the broomsticks at Harry, and Harry caught it in unheard of speed. Draco scowled, pulling out his wand and shaking it slightly in preparation. With a wave of the wand, a large portion of the yard became a quidditch pitch complete with two quidditch goal posts. Harry stared in actual wonderment, wishing he had that sort of spell when at the Dursley's. He devilishly thought of Dudley trying to fly on a broomstick and only managing to hover a few feet above the ground, the broomstick wobbling from the weight. Draco looked at Harry, wondering why he was smiling all of a sudden. Taking the smile as smugness, Draco angrily kicked away the lock on the Quidditch ball box and sent the balls flying. A bludger headed straight for Harry's head and would have knocked him out if he had not moved at the last possible second. The smile vanished instantly and Harry mounted his broom, kicking off from the ground. Harry gasped in astonishment at the speed and smooth flight of the broom, trying a couple of loops in midair. While Harry experimented with the broom, Draco took his chance and snatched the red quaffle, hurtling toward his goal. He tossed the ball in, earning himself ten points. Harry caught on to what Malfoy was doing and immediately intercepted the quaffle. Harry had never even tried to be a chaser, but as soon as he made his first goal he decided that it was much simpler than searching for the snitch.  
  
Draco soon realized that he was losing inexorably to Potter and wanted nothing more than to end the game. Draco soon sat very still on his broom, gazing around for the golden snitch. After making a fifth goal, Harry soon realized that Malfoy had changed gears and was searching for the snitch. Dodging a bludger, Harry maneuvered his broom to and fro, determined to find the snitch. He spotted it a few yards in front of him, swishing in the still air. Instead of instantly following it, Harry decided it was better to trick Malfoy. Harry sped off opposite the direction of the snitch and delved into a deep dive. Draco had soon caught up with Harry and was zooming at breakneck speed to intercept the presumed snitch. Harry then pointed his broom upwards and began shooting straight up into the sky. Harry felt euphoric, almost in another world as he seemed to leave the broomstick behind and was simply stretching out his arms and soaring for the heavens. Harry soon began to twirl as he ascended, showing off a little to his one man audience. Malfoy tried to keep up with Harry's flight, but soon fell back as Harry broke from his ascension and with lightening speed seemed to tear the sky in two as he jetted past Draco, an exhilarated smile from Harry's face burning into Draco's memory. Draco stared blankly after Harry, having trouble breathing for a moment after the spectacle of flight he just witnessed. He soon came to his senses, dismissing his temporary lack of breath as a bout of light headedness from the thin air around him. He soon grasped the idea that he had been hoodwinked and immediately planned to retaliate.  
  
Swerving between two bludgers, Harry effortlessly drew closer and closer to the snitch, relishing in the excitement and intensity he felt at these crucial moments. Just as he stretching out a hand to grasp the golden snitch in his hand, trouble struck. Harry's broom was bashed from behind, sending him lurching forward. Harry glared over his back to see Malfoy smiling in a triumphant manner. Harry growled low in his throat, preparing to retaliate. He sharply turned and butted his broom against Malfoy's. Soon a battle of bashing occurred, with each boy trying with everything they had to knock the other boy off. The battle only stopped when the snitch practically flew in front of Draco's face. They both stopped and stared around for the snitch, abandoning their own fight. Soon, with one last disgusted look shared between them, Harry searched high as Draco searched low. Draco scanned the lower area he had hastily, determined to catch the snitch first. It wasn't until a yell pierced the air that Draco stopped looking. A bludger had hit Harry hard in the head, sending him sprawling on the broom. Draco gasped involuntarily, wondering if Harry could get his balance on time. Before Harry could, however, the second bludger smacked him in the ribs, knocking him completely off the broom and hurtling toward the ground from a height of at least four stories. Draco reacted quickly, steering his broom underneath Harry's falling body. Just as Draco thought it was over, Harry fell clumsily into Draco's arms, forcing him to fall back also. Draco lay panting on the ground as Harry lay still on his body. They laid like that for a while, neither of them speaking. Harry soon came to, realizing what had happened quickly.  
  
"Malfoy, your stupid ass shouldn't have let bludgers out without beaters." Disgusted by the sheer lack of gratefulness, Draco pushed Harry off of him. They both lay there, breathing heavily.  
  
  
  
*****  
  
  
  
Back inside the castle a few minutes later, Draco was frothing with anger. Draco pulled Harry by his robes, who tripped and fell, barely able to walk properly at the harsh pulls. They walked until they reached the library, at which Draco yanked open the solid oak doors and threw Harry inside.  
  
"Next time I'll let you fall to your death, you ungrateful bastard!" Malfoy slammed the doors. Harry angrily kicked a chair, sending it flying across the room. He ran to the door, only to find it locked. Harry pounded on it, but realized that without his wand he was powerless. He soon sat down in a chair, defeated. Malfoy soon returned, opening the locks on the door.  
  
"And take your rat with you!" And with that Draco was thrown into the room also. Harry quickly intercepted his pet, cooing soft words to it and cursing Malfoy's name. Harry sighed, giving up and sitting in a chair. How was he to get out of this situation?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Will Harry be able to escape the library? Why did Draco really lose his breath? What is up with the ferret and does Harry have a 'ferret fetish'? 


	6. Pet Peeves

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other characters (besides Misma and Draco the ferret) belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
Chapter 6- Pet Peeves  
  
  
  
  
  
Draco Malfoy held no sympathy in his heart for Harry Potter. For all he cared, Potter could rot in the confines of his library; the house elves would clean it up. For the past couple of hours since he had stuffed Harry into the library, Draco had been pacing the confines of his room, mulling over his situation. He refused to think about why he had even wanted to try and stop Harry from leaving. Each time his mind led him to the question, he hastily turned it away. Yet the harder you try to forget about something, the more you remember it. Now Draco sat on the edge of his bed, letting himself think about why he wanted Harry to stay any longer. He tried and tried to come up with an answer, and even looked at his reflection in a mirror, trying to see if there was an answer in his eyes. Just when a flicker of something reached his eyes, all thoughts of that subject were dropped as Draco looked at his hair. The piece Harry had flicked earlier still hung, almost detached from the rest of his perfectly coiffed hair. Frowning deeply, Draco cursed Potter under his breath and attempted to gel it back in place. After many attempts to keep it in place, the lock of hair refused to fall in line with the rest. Draco cursed again, believing that Potter not only had cursed hair himself, but his touch caused other people's hair to be just as sloppy as his. Finally Draco gave up and washed his hair. After taking his shower, he walked back in front of the mirror and looked at himself without all the gel and hair styling products. Wet locks of silvery blonde hair fell in front of his face, bothering him slightly with the newfound feeling. His face no longer seemed skinny and pointed, but gave the illusion of fullness. Draco almost smiled at the change in his appearance. This would prove to Potter that his hair looked good with or without styling products. His mind quickly returned to Potter, and Draco decided that a check-up was in order.  
  
After getting dressed and magically drying his hair, Draco walked robustly down the hallways and stairwells. In approaching the door to the library, Draco stopped and listened for a sound. Not a single sigh or whisper issued from the room. Not even a squeak from his pet Draco. Frustrated by the peaceful silence around the library, Draco threw open the doors, but nothing could prepare him for what he saw and heard.  
  
The room was filled with a strange musical beat, something that must have been muggle music. Several items danced around him as he stood there, a chair and a lamp stand doing a sort of tango with one another. Several books swarmed around him now, swaying with the music and doing a line dance around Draco's still figure. Sitting at one of the tables with his legs propped up was Harry, resting a book on his lap and looking as if he expected Draco to walk in at that moment. The only problem was that Potter was not Potter at all. In fact, Draco barely recognized the person sitting in his library amidst all the ruckus. Harry was dressed in muggle clothes, a green ribbed sweater and a nice-looking pair of jeans. There were no glasses perched on his nose, but it seemed as if Harry could see all and more. His hair was still disheveled, which was about the only thing apart from the lightening bolt scar that identified him as Harry Potter. Draco's mouth hung open, barely registering the scene before him. A globe doing a sort of cha-cha bumped into Draco, bringing him back to the present. Draco pulled out his wand, pointing it straight at Harry threateningly. Anger soon seized him, and as if he couldn't even scream out of anger, he whispered in a cold, cutting voice.  
  
"What the bloody hell is going on?" Then with a more powerful voice, he boomed, "How did you get your wand?" Harry simply smiled arrogantly, moving to stand now.  
  
"I just found out something about myself that I never knew. Oh, remember that spell you cast on me the day I arrived?" Harry asked, lifting his hand right as he said it. Draco suddenly felt weightless and found himself remarkably floating in mid-air, suspended by magic. Anger left him as he floated, unable to express his shock. Harry soon let him down, a look of superiority lightening his face. Draco didn't see the look of triumph, but knew that there was one plastered on Harry's face. Before Draco could speak, Harry waved away all the spells in the room, further confounding Draco's mind.  
  
"You can cast spells without your wand," Draco breathed, his eyes wide in shock. Harry suddenly felt uncomfortable, not used to dealing with a side of Draco other than his hateful side.  
  
"Yeah, so. I bet lots of wizards can do it."  
  
  
  
"Not even Dumbledore can cast a spell without a wand. It's simply unheard of. I've also never seen anyone cast more than one spell simultaneously. You didn't even need to invoke the spells, all you had to do was wave your hand." Harry suddenly caught on, now understanding Malfoy's reasoning. Harry had only been a wizard for the past seven years, but Malfoy had grew up a wizard. He naturally knew more than he did about the magical world, and when he told Harry this he knew it must be true. Draco stared at Harry, for the first time wondering how truly powerful Harry was. What exactly could Harry do, and what was going on inside that head? Suddenly an idea occurred to Draco, and a trip was needed.  
  
"Potter, I want you to come to the attic. I have something I need to show you." And with that Draco turned on his heel and left, leaving a confused Harry behind. He quickly caught up to Malfoy, noticing for the first time his change of hairstyle.  
  
"Nice hair, Malfoy."  
  
  
  
"Glad you noticed. Next time I'll give it a good curl, what do you think?"  
  
  
  
"Do you have to do everything I do? I get a new look, you need new hair. I become a seeker, you have to be one. I get a new broomstick, you need a new broomstick.It's like keeping up with the Potters or something."  
  
  
  
"Trust me, everything you have I can easily get and more."  
  
  
  
"At least I didn't have to use money to get where I got."  
  
  
  
"Perhaps Voldemort would leave you alone if you paid him off. Save me a lot of trouble keeping you here."  
  
  
  
"Damn bludgers. If it wasn't for them bloody things, I'd be at Hogwarts playing wizard chess or at that library. At least the Hogwarts library would not reek of hair ointment."  
  
  
  
"Very funny. Watch your head." Draco ducked right before he said that, letting Harry hit his head on a low hanging beam. Harry cursed.  
  
"Oh, what crude language. We're here," Draco stated hastily, opening a wooden door. Harry rubbed the bump on his head, staring at the attic before him. It was unlike most attics in that there wasn't a speck of dust to be seen. Harry guessed that a Malfoy house elf's duty did not end with the main castle. Inside were things he didn't expect to be at Malfoy manor- muggle things.  
  
"Where did you get all of this stuff?"  
  
  
  
"My mother had an affinity for muggle artifacts." Harry walked over to a box, throwing it open and looking inside.  
  
"I'd hardly call a television an artifact."  
  
"I've read about televisions. I've never watched one, of course."  
  
"You've never watched TV?"  
  
"My father said it was evil and bad for you."  
  
"But I suppose being a Death Eater and supporting Voldemort is just perfectly honorable."  
  
"Sarcasm, I love it. Besides, you don't happen to see an electrical outlet sticking out of the wall, now do you?" Harry shrugged, moving on to another box. This one was filled with magazines. Most of them were National Geographic magazines.  
  
"My mother would show those to me and tell me about all the wonderful places in this world. She'd make up stories about each one, and we'd have our own little adventure within them." Harry didn't say anything to what Malfoy said, but he found it awfully strange that Malfoy was being pleasant to him. Yet it was only when talking about his mother when he'd be this nice; any other time it was just like normal. Harry dug past the National Geographic magazines and found a magazine with the title 'Wishful Witch' and opened it. Harry's eyes bugged out, soon discovering that it was a dirty magazine. Harry had heard of these, but had never actually seen one before. Lost in his own world, Harry turned it sideways in wonder.  
  
"Is it possible to get in that position?" Harry asked himself, not expecting an answer to his rhetorical question.  
  
"Of course it is, Potter." Draco spat, as if it was the easiest thing in the world to understand.  
  
"How do you know?" Harry asked, lowering the magazine. Draco raised an eyebrow, an answer already formed in his brain and the internal struggle of saying it or not saying it battled within his mind. The answer won.  
  
"What, want to try it out if you don't believe me?"  
  
  
  
"No thank you, Malfoy. In fact, please step back a few steps. After that appalling comment, you're not allowed to talk or look in my direction again."  
  
  
  
"I did NOT mean it like that!" Draco sputtered, turning a slight shade of pink. Harry smirked, putting the magazine away.  
  
"Anyways, we're not here to goggle at dirty magazines. We're here for a purpose." Harry halfway listened, but was soon moving onto another box. Draco sighed, turning away from Harry and searching the attic himself for what he was looking for in the first place. After looking into several boring boxes, Harry found a boxful of toys. A few balls were in there, just about the size of tennis balls but with bright, cheery colors. Harry smiled, picking three of them up. Harry started juggling them with ease, but when memories flooded through him, he stopped immediately. Draco, however, had seen him juggle and was filled with curiosity.  
  
"Where did you learn to do that? Do they teach that in hero training?" Harry gave him an unpleasant look, shaking his head as if to rid him of memories.  
  
"I'm asking you, Potter. Where did you learn how to do that?" Harry was barely listening, and began to juggle four balls. Draco watched for a little while, deciding on being patient for once. Finally, Harry let the balls drop and began to tell a story.  
  
"When I was little I didn't have any friends at all. My cousin Dudley made sure of that. Even if they had wanted to be my friend, they couldn't out of fear of the great lump. Upon entering the fifth grade, there was a girl in my class named Emma. She was new to the school and didn't know Dudley or his gang. On the first day of school, Dudley had stolen my lunch. Emma split hers with me. I was very shy back then, and I was afraid that if I became friends with her, then Dudley would ruin it. Anyway, time went on and I began liking this girl a lot. Every Friday we'd have show and tell. All the class would have something neat and I always had nothing to show. One day I watched a television show with a clown on it. The clown did this really good juggling act. After seeing it and how everyone enjoyed it, I wanted to learn.  
  
"Now, when I wanted to learn something, I learned it. No one taught me how to juggle, I taught myself. I'd spend hours in that cramped cupboard, juggling not balls, but items that were in there. I was soon ready to demonstrate my abilities. That Friday I proudly made my way to the front of the class. I didn't bring anying with me. I asked for someone to give me an item, any item. I began juggling. I never stopped. I began to juggle five things at once, the class was on the edge of their seats. Emma's eyes shined with enjoyment, and I knew I was impressing her. Then it happened. A boy in my class handed me the class pet, a hamster named George. Everything was going fine, George was a little shaken up but holding on, and the class was cheering my name. I felt like I was on top of the world." Harry paused for a second.  
  
"Then what?" Draco asked.  
  
"I dropped George."  
  
  
  
"Oh my, bet that gained you some fans."  
  
  
  
"The poor thing died on impact. I was sent home and locked in the cupboard for weeks with less meals."  
  
  
  
"Shame, really."  
  
  
  
"Yeah." Harry looked up, staring at Draco. "Now you know why I love playing quidditch so much. It combines the two things I love: Flying away from reality and being admired for something I did on my own." Draco stared back, an unspoken feeling of similarity forming between them. Before more words were said, however, Draco's mind returned to the task at hand.  
  
"Well, while you were talking about your charming past, I found what we are here for in the first place." Draco led Harry to a corner of the attic, pulling a sheet off of a large object. A mirror was under it, a large mirror with something in Latin inscribed at the top.  
  
"Is this the Mirror of Erised?" Harry asked immediately, his voice in wonderment.  
  
"No. This is its brother, the Mirror of Raef." Harry turned toward Draco, cocking his head slightly.  
  
"What does it show?"  
  
  
  
"Well, you know the Mirror of Erised shows your deepest desire, right?" Harry nodded in agreement. "Well, this mirror shows your deepest fear. Have a look." Draco stepped out of the way, leaving the mirror open to Harry. Harry breathed heavily, extremely curious about what he would find in its depths. According to Professor Lupin and his take on Boggarts, Harry's greatest fear was fear. But that was such an overall view of it. What, specifically, did Harry fear most?  
  
"Come on, I'm not gonna stand here forever and the mirror doesn't bite." Draco said impatiently, tapping his foot on the ground. Harry swallowed his inhibitions and walked straight up to the mirror and peered inside.  
  
Images passed swiftly, moving too fast for Harry to concentrate on. There were people crowded around a place, all screaming obscenities at Harry. Then he saw himself, bound, unable to control what was happening. Voldemort was there, as well as Ron and Hermione yelling at the crowd. A white horse flashed, a streak of gold.Blood spilled onto his hands, and he couldn't rid his hands of the blood. Faces flashed before him; his parents, Dumbledore, Cedric, his friends, almost everyone engraved their faces into Harry's very skull. A darkened sky, rain, no one there anymore, just him and the blood that never would leave. Harry tore himself from the mirror, toppling back from the sheer intensity. Draco moved beside him, making sure he didn't go into any sort of panic attack. Harry's face dribbled with sweat and he kept mumbling something about blood, so much blood.Draco stood up from where Harry had fainted, casting a spell to send Harry into his bedroom. After Harry had left, Draco gazed at the mirror and wondered what his own fear was. He had never dared look into the mirror, and his mother told him never to go near it until he was old enough. He certainly felt old enough, and he figured that his greatest fear couldn't possibly be as bad as Potter's. Harry had seen Voldemort kill, and had seen so many terrible things. It was no wonder he reacted the way he did. Draco calmly stepped up to the mirror, gazing into its depths.  
  
Surprisingly, the image shown was something Draco had never expected. It was so simple, yet so complex. It showed Draco in an empty void, a look in his eyes that haunted even himself. When the image didn't change, Draco stepped away from the mirror and sat down for a while, thinking about what the image could mean. Writing it off as either lack of fear (which he doubted in the far reaches of his mind, where his actions never reached) or the fear of death itself, Draco walked briskly from the oppressing attic.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Will Harry or Draco learn the meaning behind their visions? Could Malfoy manor have an influence on Harry's magic? Think I'll make them snog anytime soon? (Harry and Draco nod vigorously behind my back) 


	7. A Truce

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other characters (besides Misma and Draco the ferret) belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
Chapter 7- A Truce  
  
Harry woke up hours later in his own bed, a dream of what he saw in the mirror still sticking in his groggy mind. Bleak images of blood, crowds, and himself all mingled together in a wholly confusing sequence. There was nothing more than Harry wanted to do than lay in bed and mull over his thoughts. Yet Harry also knew that to dwell on his visions and dreams would prove in vain later on. He raised himself slowly from his bed, wondering how he had gotten back. His mind reclaimed wisdom and Harry knew that he couldn't very well stay locked up in the attic all this time. He stretched fully, looking through the lone window beside his bed. Outside birds were singing and the sun was shining as brightly as ever. Harry did not even know what day it was, let alone the day of the week. Judging it to be the 3rd of January (since Misma came on New Years), Harry rose completely and went to his closet in search of robes. Feeling in a down mood, Harry choose a set of black robes in hopes that it would make him feel closer to Hogwarts. Thinking of Hogwarts, Harry realized that it had been ages since he'd seen his friends. With a quick step Harry hurried off to find Malfoy, praying that he was in a mood parallel to what he was in yesterday. When Harry found Malfoy, it appeared that he could not judge what he was feeling. He had searched for a half hour all through the castle and happened to peak into his room. He had found Malfoy still sleeping in bed, even though it was nearing lunch. Harry edged closer to the bed with its curtains drawn up, for some strange reason wanting to see what Malfoy looked like when he slept. As he pulled back a thick curtain and let light hit the sleeping figure, Harry had to choke back a laugh at what he saw. Malfoy was laying spread eagle on the bed, clothed in silken black pajamas. A black mask shielded his eyes from the harsh sunlight and a hair net kept his hair from getting disarrayed. Harry stared at the figure for a moment, debating whether or not to wake him up. Harry wasn't sure if Malfoy was a morning person or not, but instincts told him that he was not. Harry prodded Malfoy gently in the shoulder, wanting to see if he was a light sleeper. Malfoy completely turned over to face away from Harry, a loud snore escaping from his mouth. Harry laughed then, closing the curtain tightly. Harry decided to just go on to breakfast. The house elves stirred themselves into a frenzy when Harry arrived, feverishly preparing breakfast for their guest. Harry thanked the house elves gratuitously, smiling at each one to further his point. After a couple of hours, Draco eventually arose and grudgingly agreed to let Harry talk to his friends. They went off to the study, Malfoy tiredly summoning Dumbledore. Dumbledore was currently involved in scratching his extremely crooked and elongated nose. Malfoy sniggered, regaining his composure and getting Dumbledore's attention. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy. I trust things are going well with you and Mr. Potter?" Malfoy darted his eyes toward Harry, daring him to say a single cross word. Harry raised his eyebrows and Draco slid his eyes back to the orb, not noticing that Harry was rolling his eyes. Dumbledore remained smiling, awaiting an answer. "Things are improving. We have yet to kill each other." Malfoy stated, satisfied with his answer. Harry shifted in his chair, longing to inform the Headmaster of just how close they had come to strangling the other in their sleep. But then he distinctly remembered himself in Malfoy's room that morning, amused by his sleep pattern rather than trying to figure out a way to slit his throat. "Delighted to hear the good news boys. I'll just inform Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger of your visit." Dumbledore soon left the room. Harry glanced up at Draco, who had an unreadable expression on his face until he voiced his confusion. "I swear that man knows something I don't know." Harry cocked his head slightly, considering Malfoy for a few seconds. It was exactly the same thing he himself felt when he was around Dumbledore. His train of thought was interrupted by a door opening and closing in the orb and the sight of his two best friends. His face broke into a wide grin as Ron and Hermione played an impromptu game of musical chairs, vying for the closest seat to Harry. Finally Hermione jabbed Ron with her elbow and both managed to stay an equal distance apart. "Hi Harry! How's everything?" Hermione asked, leaning forward attentively. "Not so bad, but it could be better." "Well, duh, we know that riding a Skrewt in an earthquake would be better. We want to know if we should find a way to tear Malfoy's head off." "Such a wonderful image, Weasley," Malfoy said, examining his nails closely. "Glad you thought so," Ron said sarcastically, glaring and Malfoy while clenching and unclenching his fists angrily. Hermione looked anxiously at Ron, desperately trying to make this a civil conversation. Harry sighed. "Malfoy, can you leave us alone for a few minutes?" "No." "Malfoy, if you don't want my foot in your ass you'd better leave." "I do love you and Weasley's sense of humor. I have not witnessed such captivating imagery in a long while." "Just get out, ferret." "Clever. I suppose it took you ten minutes to come up with that." Malfoy spat, longing to stick his tongue out at Harry in a very childlike way. With a final angry sweep of his robes, Malfoy disappeared. Harry sighed, leaning back against his chair. "Really, Harry, what's been going on?" Hermione asked, getting Harry's attention. Harry thought for a moment before answering. "Nothing, except getting bored." Harry suddenly remembered what he saw this morning. "I did happen to see Malfoy sleeping with a rather lacey eye cover on this morning. Didn't know he fancied red lips over his eyes. Probably never been kissed his entire life." Ron laughed loudly and Hermione giggled as if she was trying to hold back but decided it was only Malfoy, after all. Harry laughed with them, before reminding himself painfully that he had never really kissed anyone either, apart from a few sloppy smooches between classes with a couple of girls whose names did not matter anymore. "Enough of that, Harry. We can tell when there's something that's bothering you," Hermione pressed, staring at Harry eagerly. Harry sighed dramatically. Sometimes he felt that Hermione got a kick out of hearing all the ups and downs of his life day after day after never ending day. "Well, yesterday after he locked me in the library..." Ron looked as if he wanted to say something but Hermione stopped him, "He led me to the attic and there was this mirror. It was the Mirror of Raef and it showed your greatest fear." Hermione and Ron listened closely, their eyes widening in curiosity. "Well, go on, what did you see?" Ron asked hurriedly. Harry frowned in an offhand manner, trying to summarize what he saw. "A lot of blood.Death, fire, friends surrounding me." "What do you think it was?" "I don't know what it was. I'm not afraid of blood, death is just another phase of life, I don't like fire but I'm not certainly afraid of it." "And if you're afraid of us then I'll kiss Malfoy." "Flattering, Weasley, but you're not my type." Draco had just walked in airily, wedging himself firmly into a cushioned seat. Ron scowled. "I thought Harry told you to get out," Ron chided, glowering at Malfoy with a ruddy face. "Believe me, I would have loved to stay away, but I cannot keep the connection going if I am far from it." Malfoy frowned, crossing his arms in what Harry thought was a very childlike manner. Harry raised his eyebrows at him, and Malfoy irritably unfolded his arms and set them placidly in his lap. "Anyways, what do you think old Malfoy saw in the mirror, Harry?" Ron asked, perking up immediately. Hermione frowned, immediately turning toward Ron and commencing to scold him. "Ron, don't you dare start anything." "The Mudblood's right, Ron." "Watch your mouth, Malfoy. I know where you sleep and the kiss mask that covers your dainty eyes." Harry and Ron laughed at what Ron said, Hermione chuckling softly. Draco scowled, burying himself deeper in his seat. "I bet Malfoy saw a girl in the mirror," Ron crowed, shaking with laughter. "Nah, I bet it was Professor Snape in a tutu." Harry replied. Draco shook with rage, a breath away from blowing up and cursing everything in his path. "Wait, that is rather scary. I can bet you all the gold in Gringotts he saw himself looking at himself." "One more crack out of you Weasley and I'll make sure never to let you talk to Potter again!" Malfoy yelled, fury clearly evident in his face. Ron quieted down, but still laughed quietly. "Gods, I'm thirsty." Harry said, still laughing a bit. He mentally poured a glass from a pitcher on a nearby table. Then he summoned the glass to his hand and took a long gulp. When he lowered the glass to look at his friends, both of them had their mouths wide open. Harry was confused for a second before remembering that his friends did not know of this new ability he possessed. Harry smiled widely, expecting them to admire him any moment. Hermione was the first to speak, and instead of pride or awe, all he heard was admonished anxiety. "Harry, how did you do that?" Harry started a bit, not expecting that particular question. "I just think of what I want to do and it happens." If Harry thought this would clear the worry off his friend's faces, he was deeply mistaken. Instead they turned an appalling shade of white. "When did you find out you could do that?" Hermione rushed on, breathless worry pouring from her mouth. "When I was locked in the library." "Wait, now how did you get locked in that library?" Ron interrupted, his face gaining some color. Draco smirked and smiled maliciously, Harry rolled his eyes, and Ron got angry. "Next time that git does something like that, make his eyes fall out." "Ron, this is very serious!" Hermione hissed. Harry grew exasperated. He felt exactly the same as he had once felt in his second year at Hogwarts when his friends were reluctant in telling him that he was a Parselmouth. "Look, what is so dangerous about me not using a wand? I do the same things I normally do." "Harry, all wizards can do magic without a wand, but it is often wild and uncontrolled. Do you even have to say an incantation?" "No, I just think it and it happens." "Harry, you should stop doing that. It's not wise." "Can someone explain to me why it is not good to be able to do this? Doesn't it make me powerful or something?" "You won't be able to control it." "I can too! It's not like I do something with every thought." "What she means Potter," Draco interrupted, tired of this petty arguing and the lack of intelligence Harry possessed. "Is that there are times in which you could not possibly control it. For example, what would happen if you thought of harming someone when you're angry, and you really do it? There is no way you can control such strong emotions at all times." Hermione stared at Draco for a moment, caught between contempt at the person stealing her answer away and a slight flash of respect for his response. Ron was not ready to let the subject die. "Well, think of it another way.All Harry would have to do is think of killing Voldemort, right? He can snuff him out right here, right now." "Don't be an idiot, Weasley. He's far too powerful, and Potter would have to face him to do it anyways. Avada Kedavra requires a person to face their target and then do it. It takes force of mind and plenty of practice." "Oh, and I bet you've made sure you know every aspect of it," Ron spat. Draco grinned widely, his face resembling a horrible Halloween mask. "Perhaps I do, Weasel. Want me to test it? Perhaps on your bushy haired girlfriend." Ron lunged for something to grasp onto, as if he could pound Malfoy through all the distance between them. "Say that again Malfoy and I'll tear your hide!" "What, so you can sell it? Are things going that bad money wise, Weasel? I keep telling you, all you have to do is get Potter here to give you a lock of his hair. I'm sure it'll be worth more than your entire family. Hell, even Granger's bush would fetch a higher price than your family." Ron yelled something unintelligible and started cussing Malfoy with a flourish Harry had never witnessed. Draco soon grew tired of this and made the image vanish entirely from the orb. Harry, who had watched this exchange in a trance, jumped from his chair and rounded on Malfoy before he left the room. "What the hell is wrong with you, you evil, snide, coward bastard!" Harry screamed, his voice echoing off the walls of the adjourning hall. "Me? What about your friend, eh? Accusing me of using the Killing curse." "You didn't have to start all of this, and it seems you weren't too against it either." "He's the one who wanted to tear my head off, if you do recall." "Oh, and I suppose he was the one terrorizing you for the last six and a half years." "No one insults a Malfoy." "Bastard." "Exactly. And you wonder why I hate you." "You're the one who bad mouthed Ron first." "Oh, and he is so innocent? Tell me, Potter, how would you feel if you were me that first day? You try to get on the good side of someone, and then this little prick you don't even notice standing there just laughs at your when you introduce yourself. Never mind, you wouldn't understand, because you would have run off crying in shame." "I bloody well would not!" Harry yelled, but inside he felt a sudden pang of guilt. Was that how Malfoy truly felt when they first met on the train? Could he have been just as scared about making new friends as he was? It almost made the last six and a half years of hatred seem applicable. "Please, you know you cry over your poor parents every night and aren't ashamed of it." Then again, Harry thought, maybe not. "So now it's confession time? The only reason you even talked to me was because I was Harry Potter." "You seem to forget that we met in that robe shop, when I didn't know who the hell you were. When I first met you in that robe shop, you were so tiny and thin that one good hex would have finished you off. I talked to you, even though I didn't know you were Harry Potter. Ron, on the other hand, knew perfectly well who you were. Probably made friends with you to get himself a bit of glory." "First of all, you didn't talk, just bragged about how rich and how mighty you were. Second, Ron hates being in my shadow, and while we're on the subject of friends, how about your two cronies? I bet their IQ combined wouldn't add up to a human level." "Crabbe and Goyle are childhood friends of mine, given to me by my father. They are very loyal companions. Besides, your friend Ron doesn't have much intelligence either." "He can tie his shoes, which makes him instantly smarter. Besides, I think you're very bitter about us not being your friends." "Bitter? Not hardly. Insulted? Most definitely." Draco frowned, bowing his head and reorganizing his thoughts. "Besides, you just showed off at the robe shop. You really got interested as soon as you heard I was Harry Potter. Your father probably set you up to befriend me just so you can betray me." "You're not all that wrong, actually. I did want your friendship because you were Harry Potter. Though it was not only my father who wanted you as my friend. My father wanted me to befriend you, lead you over to the dark side or some nonsense. My mother thought I needed you as a friend to be able to escape my father. I ignored them both, seeking your.acquaintance for my own benefit. Not only did I fail both my parents, I was the laughingstock of the school. Obviously since you didn't accept me, what good was I? As soon as I stepped into a crowded train compartment, others would put their hands over their mouths, giggle, and point at me. It was the mere determination to destroy you that put me into Slytherin house. The Sorting hat didn't even have to be placed on my head to know how much I wanted to destroy you. My father was mad that I hadn't made you my partner in crime, though he was so proud of my becoming a Slytherin, and my mother was completely devastated. She might even have lived if you wouldn't have snubbed me. I was considered evil from that moment on." "So your mum's death is all my fault? Aren't you being a bit overdramatic?" "Perhaps, perhaps not. All I really know is that everything seems to revolve around you, and when I had no part in Potter-worshipping, I was automatically evil." "I'm so sick of people thinking I'm everything!" Harry exploded. "Even you, Malfoy, think of me as some sort of god." "Why would I think your pathetic." "Oh, stop with the damn insults! I don't care, and it's doing us no good right now. I am not The-Boy-Who-Lived, I am not the Golden Boy, I am not any other stupid names people have coined." "Then who are you?" "I am just Harry." Harry's face softened, his eyes full of long suffering pain. A sudden need to be understood overtook him, and Harry found himself continuing. "Plain old boring Harry that is made fun of at school. The Harry who is sometimes funny, sometimes not. The boy who wasn't famous, ignored by his own family. I'm not special, I just want to be like everyone else. I'm no hero, and I never claimed to be. I just get lucky." Draco stood stalk still, taking in all that Harry had said. He was very shocked, never realizing that Harry thought that all his victories were nothing. Could he have misinterpreted Harry's smiles when someone stared hungrily at his scar? Now that he thought about it, he remembered Harry's smiles always being tight and constrictive, as if he would rather run away than be praised. Draco fell from his thoughts as Harry continued, this time with much less hostility and in a faraway, contemplating voice. "Funny thing is, the closest I've ever come to being normal since discovering I was a famous wizard were the times you ragged on me. The hatred was so much; I never even felt this way with Dudley ragging on me. I even told myself that you made Dudley out to be an innocent, thoughtful little boy. I hated you with everything I had. But it wasn't so bad, you being my enemy. I mean, that's why heroes have enemies, right? You can't have a hero without an enemy." "Are you so sure that I'm the enemy?" "You're the one harping on 'I'm the misunderstood evil overlord who hates Harry Potter with every fiber of his being'." "Well, if I'm the misunderstood evil guy, and you're the misunderstood hero, does that make me the hero and you the bad guy?" Harry thought about this, before shaking that thought away. Something like a smile twitched on Draco's mouth, but he readily repressed it. "You know what, I hated you before you insulted Ron. I hated you in the robe shop, going on about how wonderful you were." "Well, it's good to know that your hatred was justified. Besides, I am wonderful." Harry groaned, feeling as if they were going around in complicated circles. "Why do have to fight like this? Can't we just accept that I hate you and you hate me and be done with it?" "You mean, a truce?" Draco dared speak, the words sounding very foreign on his tongue. Harry sighed, feeling tired and weak. "Yes, a truce. I mean, who cares who we are? We both can't help what others think of us, me Harry Potter and you a Malfoy. What's in a name?" "A rose by any other name is just as sweet?" Draco quipped, a smirk playing at his mouth. "I have read a good deal of Shakespeare, although I believe that you just heard that from some movie. Trust me, Potter, you are by far no rose. A prick, maybe, but not a rose." "You read Shakespeare? Muggle literature?" "Shakespeare was a wizard disguised as a Muggle. He lived when muggles feared our kind. He loved to write, though, and did that instead of being a trained wizard. I mean, how else could he have written such beautiful things? No Muggle can feel that deeply." "You've never read a poem Hermione has written, then. You'd be surprised." They stared at one another, both unable to come up with appropriate words. "Come on, it's not who started it. What matters is who finishes it." Harry boldly stuck out his hand. Draco drew back from this gesture like a frightened woodland creature with large, watery eyes, wary of what this enemy was doing. Harry stared up at him with endearing eyes, beckoning, almost hypnotizing him to step forward. Draco felt the sudden, reflexive urge to spit in Potter's outstretched hand, but then realized that he too was beyond tired of fighting with Harry. Things were so much easier when they both either ignored each other or talked normally. He hated Harry, that would never change. But perhaps they could coexist, just for the meantime. Draco sighed, raising his hand and grasping Harry's awkwardly as if he had never done it before. Harry roughly pumped their hands, sealing the deal. They let go quickly, both looking away as if ashamed to admit they were on even ground. It was Draco who broke the awkwardness in the room. "Well, I am off to have lunch. The house elves are making some kind of French cuisine I've never heard of. You can eat too, as long as you sit on the opposite side of the table." Harry didn't smile, afraid of getting too friendly too fast. He simply nodded and followed Draco into the dining room. There was fine cuisine indeed, and Harry enjoyed every bite. Neither talked through the meal or looked at each other, but that night before they went to sleep, they had both nodded silently at each other before going into their respective rooms to sleep.  
  
Will Draco stop making fun of Ron and Hermione? Will Ron go to anger control management seminars? Will Draco become Harry's sugar daddy so he can order a half-naked Harry with a spiked collar on his neck to do his sexual bidding? 


	8. Be My Valentine

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other characters (besides Misma and Draco the ferret) belong to J.K. Rowling.  
  
  
  
Chapter 8-Be My Valentine  
  
  
  
A few weeks passed peacefully since that last brutal fight. Far from becoming best buddies, Harry and Draco had simply avoided one another all together as if the other had a highly infectious disease. For the rest of the month of January and into the beginning of February, neither party talked with the other. They skirted each other in halls, lowered their eyes during meals, and generally avoided each other for reasons unknown. It was not until the week of Valentine's, the second date set for Misma to come for dinner, that they noticed the other was there.  
  
Draco had finished the book he was reading (The Extremely Rich and Handsome Son of a King) and he realized, with a horrible lurch in his stomach, that he was bored. He had read all the books he had been wanting to read, organized all his belongings, and played so many rounds of wizard solitaire (a game just like muggle solitaire with the exception of moving kings, queens, and jacks that waged battles with other cards and barked orders at the player) that he began to dream he was a jack married to an Austrian queen. He leaned forward a little in thought, his mind mulling over things he could do during this unforeseen lull in his schedule. Just as he grudgingly decided that he would go down to his study, a thought occurred to him. Harry Potter suddenly popped into his mind, invading it completely, and all he could think about for the next few moments was Harry. Harry alone in his room all through the past weeks with nothing to do. Harry laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Harry counting the hairs on his arm. Harry dressing up his pet ferret, perhaps making it perform a tap dance. He shook away that last thought quickly, but his mind remained glued to the subject, and now he wondered what Harry had been doing to occupy himself all this time. Curiosity itched his mind, and Draco knew of only one way to scratch that bothersome itch.  
  
With renewed vigor, Draco marched himself right up to the tallest tower, his mind blissfully empty, right up until the point where his hand was poised over the door, waiting for its owner to let it knock. Draco stared in horror at his arm, reason finally kicking in. He yanked his hand back, running it through his thin hair instead. What did he think he was doing? Excuses filled his disturbed mind, each one more futile than the rest. He lingered on 'temporary insanity' for a bit, but knew that that explanation would require him to leave swiftly, or else he would have to switch to 'prolonged madness'. Wringing his hands nervously, he jerkily paced in front of the door, past the point of wanting to leave. Obviously his subconscious mind wanted him to be here, or else he would already be in the study, having a steaming cup of herbal tea. So instead of leaving, he focused instead on why he was there. Then he remembered: He wanted to find out what Harry did all alone for hours on end. He had no clue why he needed to know so badly, but knew that he just had to ask. Besides, if worst came to worst, Draco would simply insult Harry and hastily retreat before awkward questions were asked. He raised his hand, his nerves and muscles fighting each other as his hand shook in anticipation of the knock. He breathed deeply, trying to calm his sudden bout of nervousness. His hand quivered and he vaguely wondered if his hand was fighting the Imperius curse. A cold sweat had issued from his forehead, and his hands felt clammy. Draco mentally slapped himself, and as he did so his fist rapped on the door, sprung backward and then rested at his side. He heard a slight groan from within, and Draco suddenly felt extremely intrusive. Then Harry's voice followed, raspy and strained as if he had undergone a vigorous exercise session.  
  
"Just leave the strawberries and whipped cream by the door, thanks Mitsy!" Harry yelled quickly, barely pausing for breath. Draco grinned broadly, before mentally smacking himself, pulling his face into a familiar sneer. He had never grinned without ridicule before until Harry had come to the manor, and the thought simply reinforced his bitterness toward Harry. He contemplated just walking in, but reckoned that he might see something he didn't want to see at all. Instead, he knocked again.  
  
"Ok, ok. Just come in and put the lot of it on the end table." Assuming that Harry was decent enough for someone to enter his room, Draco pulled up on the wrought iron handle and pushed the heavy wooden door open. The scene before him left him speechless as well as baffled.  
  
Harry was lying on his back, staring at a box in front of him. Draco soon realized that the box was the television they had happened upon in the attic a month back. Draco stared curiously at the television, forgetting that he was there for other reasons. Harry, who was getting slightly woozy from staring upside down at a picture screen, righted himself and gasped in shock at Draco. He quickly rose to his feet, as if Draco, with his rigid posture and his hands clasped behind his back, was a general ordering him to attention. Draco took no notice of Harry and walked closer, trying to get a better view of the series of images that flashed before his eyes. Unlike his late father, muggles sometimes fascinated him. He often wondered what with all the magic his kind possessed, how could a muggle make something so.magical? Harry began staring at the floor, attempting to conjure up courage to ask why Draco was in his bedroom. Had he done something wrong? Perhaps he shouldn't have ordered the strawberries and whipped cream. Mitsy insisted and Harry had just thought of the dessert to please her. It wasn't his fault, really. But then Harry saw Draco staring at the television.  
  
"I'm sorry I moved the TV. I got a bit bored and thought it would be a nice distraction." Taking Draco's contemplating expression as silent anger, Harry rushed on. "I meant to return it a few days ago, but I got really interested in this soap opera.Well, never mind about that. I figured the TV wouldn't work anyways what with no electrical outlets. But then I looked up a handy spell in the library and found an electricity spell and had it run with that. Same principal, I say. I was sort of afraid it wouldn't get a signal, what with all this magic being around.But I suppose Hogwarts has much more magic than this house does." Harry soon faltered, scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. Draco admitted no sound, and Harry found himself afraid of the sudden awkward silence. If there was anything Harry knew about Malfoy, it was that he always showed his emotions. This new picture of him was unsettling to Harry. Just as Harry seriously considered making a run for the door, Draco's head shot up toward him.  
  
"Do you mind if I watch this?" Draco asked, his voice startlingly pleasant. Harry shut his mouth quickly and he found himself nodding in relief. Draco turned away from him and walked over to the bed. Having never watched a television before, Draco did not know the proper procedure for television watching. He decided that he would do it exactly the way he had seen Harry do it to avoid ridicule. He laid down on his back and arched his head backwards to stare at the screen, fascinated by the upside down world. He had honestly thought the images would right themselves if he did this, and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he squinted at the television, willing the images to shift. Harry burst out laughing, shocking Draco. Draco sat up rigidly, glaring at Harry.  
  
"What's so funny?" He demanded haughtily as he crossed his arms over his chest, his voice aristocratic and childish all at once.  
  
"You don't watch it that way. I was just bored and thought it would be a kick to watch it like that. You sit up."  
  
Harry walked over to the bed and sat down on it, staring straight ahead at the screen. Draco mimicked his posture, pleased that the images were now distinguishable. It showed a man and a woman in black muggle clothing, skulking around in some underground chamber. Draco reached out a hand and touched the smooth glass of the television, feeling as if he couldn't embarrass himself anymore than he already had.  
  
"How do they get people in there without magic?" Draco asked, genuinely interested but made sure his voice sounded rude.  
  
"Well, they film them on a camera and make it into a story worth watching."  
  
"So they aren't really agents?"  
  
"No, no. It's just some alien catching show."  
  
"Muggles are very strange. They believe in aliens yet scoff at levitating candles." Draco frowned after he said this, wondering why the hell he had just sounded so pleasant. He mentally scratched his head, wondering why that didn't sound more scathing.  
  
"Some muggles believe in witchcraft, believe it or not. Though it's some earth magic or something. It doesn't really work since they can't do magic. They believe they do magic, but it's only passing wizards who want to trick them"  
  
"Those have to be the queerest muggles around. The ones that believe in magic yet can't see it right in front of them."  
  
"I suppose you're right." A lapse in the conversation ensued. Draco watched as a slimy green alien chased the two men in black suits. The show grew very boring and he found himself cheering for the alien.  
  
"Well, I guess I should go." Draco stood up, feeling like he didn't want to leave just yet. He knew that very feeling would keep him awake half of the night, but he knew that he couldn't just leave without saying something more.  
  
"Well, I suppose Misma would just love to see more of the famous Harry Potter. Why not come to dinner then, and show off your pretty rat?" Draco reached down and picked up Harry's ferret, who bit his finger. Draco yelped, cursing the rat as he cradled a bleeding finger. Harry sighed, pointed toward Draco's injury and curing it instantly. Draco frowned, hating the fact that Harry had one upped him.  
  
"Draco doesn't like to be held except by me. Besides, I refuse to wear one more of these damn robes."  
  
"And what's wrong with your clothes? They're made of the finest material and hand woven from France."  
  
"That's not it.I feel like I'm wearing a dress. I feel so.exposed." Harry blushed, busying himself with keeping his pet calm. Draco smirked.  
  
"It's all a part of being a wizard. I'm sure you'll get used to the breeze." Harry coughed, flitting around the room and arranging several perfectly placed items.  
  
"Why would you want me to come anyway? Can't handle the ladies yourself? Need a strong, handsome bloke like me to make the beginning moves?" Draco laughed derisively, an evil smirk crossing his face. Harry frowned. He could just hear it when Draco smirked like that.  
  
"A strong, handsome virgin?" Harry sputtered indignantly, but never denied what Draco said. Draco grinned like a Cheshire cat. "I knew it all along. Too busy saving mankind to wallow in the sack?"  
  
"And just when have you been able to look away from a mirror long enough to pay attention to someone else?" Draco frowned, not expecting such a deeply cutting response. Harry smirked. "Your reflection is the only thing that would have you."  
  
"Better a reflection than a rat.At least the reflection is one handsome devil." Draco walked to the door, ready to leave before.  
  
"So, why are you inviting me anyways?" Harry asked nonchalantly, fidgeting with the end of a pillowcase. Draco cringed and struggled for a good answer.  
  
"It's not that I particularly want you there, Potter. Misma voiced her high opinion of you and insisted she see more of you. There is no end to your stardom, is there Potter?"  
  
"It's not like I hypnotized her or something." Harry grinned a very sadistic grin. "You're avoiding the question, Malfoy."  
  
"Bollocks. I have reasons for wanting you there that only I know."  
  
"Are these the same reasons why you are keeping me here?"  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"Remember when I first arrived here and you told me you had other reasons for keeping me here? You know, 'reasons for keeping you here, other than protecting you'. If I didn't know better Malfoy, I'd say that these reasons are starting to sound pretty fishy to me." Draco started, torn between the outright audacity Potter had to say that and the fact that Harry remembered something that he had said so long ago.  
  
"Well, if my 'reasons' are fishy, than your memory is just plain clear: You remember everything I say." Draco hastily opened the door, leaving a gaping Harry alone again. Draco made it halfway down the stairs before giving in to a laughing fit. He laughed until it hurt, leaning against banisters and holding his aching sides. Then as he stepped off the last stair, he thought of something very disturbing. Why did he not just consult the Orb of Visions to see what Potter was doing? Draco stalked back to his room, his mood dampened.  
  
*****  
  
  
  
Valentine's day arrived with a flourish of singing dinnerware and house elves dressed as cupids. Misma arrived promptly at seven and the three sat down to an elegant dinner. Seated at either end of the dining table was Harry and Draco and twoard the middle sat Misma. Misma seemed to be celebratng the season in her own unique way. She was dressed in her usual black dress but this one had diagonal red stripes set starkingly against the black. Harry recalled the horizonal and vertical rule- horizontal broadens while vertical slims. He wasn't sure what the diagonal rule was, but he was leaning toward sex. Her hair lay on her shoulders this time, impossibly shiny gold clips adorned her hair, more for show than hair maintenence. Draco was immacuately dressed in royal blue robes and had hair that looked as if several house elves would have sore hands from making it. Harry wore tan robes that he had found to be very comfortable. His hand still smarted from when, in an angry fit of frustration, he had banged an innocent comb on a dresser after it had been subjected to Harry's monstrous hair. Conversation was tedious and grueling with Draco making most attempts. Dinner was something slimy and squid-like with a fancy gourmet name. In a particually long lapse in conversation, Misma seemed to notice Harry for the first time.  
  
"Harry, you will be attending our wedding." Harry choked rather inelgantly on a piece of decorative greenery (which proved to be the only edible part of the meal). He had never considered this and now that the idea was presented without proper time to think of an answer, he was at a loss. Then Harry wondered if she had even meant that to be a question.  
  
"I suppose so." Harry stared down at his plate, wishing Draco had a dog so he could sneakily feed it his dinner.  
  
"Suppose? I was inclined to think that you and Draco were more or less friendly with each other." Now Draco appeared uncomfortable, although he had learned from Harry not to eat while a question was posed.  
  
"We have an arrangement, that is all," Draco replied, going back to his delicate eating. In Harry's entertainment starved mind, he thought, 'an arrangement? Well, Draco, we sure know how to flatter a guy, don't we?' Harry physically shook his head, longing for dinner to end.  
  
"An arrangement? How utterly boring, Draco! Why, this is Harry Potter after all. Which makes me wonder, have you ever thought of making use of this mansion?"  
  
"Make use of it?" Draco appeared politely curious, but Harry could tell that her enunciation of his name was infuriating him.  
  
"Well, perhaps we should hold a party here. It would do good for posterity and we can make it Harry's birthday party." Against his better wishes, Harry couldn't help but get a tiny bit excited about a birthday party. He had, after all, never had one.  
  
"What do you say, Draco?" Misma asked politely. Harry smirked, laying his head on his hand, staring at Draco as well.  
  
"Yes, what do you think Draco?" Draco shot a glare at Harry who merely widened his eyes in a mock plead.  
  
"Fine, in a month then. I'll send invitations in two weeks."  
  
"Excellent. This will certainly be a night to remember." Harry and Draco locked eyes, both of them trying to gauge the other's reaction to these words.  
  
  
  
*********  
  
Misma and Draco went off to talk after dinner, leaving Harry alone. Not wanting to intrude, Harry went outside to the garden.  
  
Although the entire mansion was beautiful, the most beautiful place was the garden. Harry's favorite part of the garden was a little square of grass that was adjacent to a trickling fountain. He lay on his back there, breathing in the sweet smell of honeysuckle and cool night air. Flakes of snow lazily drifted from a thin layer of clouds. The stars were out and the moon was full, flooding the normally dark garden with its soft glow. Harry vaguely remembered reading about the solar system in his old Muggle school and wondered if the sky was magic too. He felt small then, as if he were a figurine in a snow globe. His musings were interrupted by a loud crunch somewhere to his left. Harry looked sideways to see Draco peering down at him. Too dreamy to be startled or worried by his presence, Harry merely look upwards again. Draco shocked him by keeping silent, waiting for Harry to return to this world. For a few moments they stayed like this, both overcome with the sudden need for silence.  
  
"It's cold our here. What are you staring at?"  
  
"The stars."  
  
"Why? You can see them any old time. There's nothing really special about them." Harry sat up, a considering look on his face.  
  
"Just because they are always there doesn't mean that you can just pass them by. What if you go living your entire lieft and then when the time comes to look at the stars, they are nowhere around to see?"  
  
"Well, that's just silly. Are they going to hitch up their twinkling skirts and leave?"  
  
"You know, for someone who has known magic all of their lives you are pretty cynical."  
  
"Yeah, well, for someone who has grown up around Muggles you are astoundingly batty." Harry sighed, feeling as if the magic was drained out him for the night thanks to Malfoy. Standing and brushing snow off his robes, he was stopped by Malfoy, who stared at him with a peculiar look on his face.  
  
"I was thinking that maybe we should make the most of this situation."  
  
"This situation?"  
  
"You know, the whole stuck-with-an-ugly-git situation."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Perhaps we should practice quidditch in the morning?" Draco ventured, an inquiring look in his eyes.  
  
"I suppose I could do with a little practice."  
  
"Just don't fall off your broom again. This time I won't save your sorry ass." Harry smirked, turning to leave. "We'll start tomorrow, Potter."  
  
"Whatever you say, Draco." Harry left, distantly thinking that maybe the magic wasn't fully drained from him that night.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Will we ever know why Misma is really around? Will Harry let Draco into his bedroom more often? Will the author ever hurry it up and let these two boys snog themselves stupid? 


End file.
